Rise of the Dragon
by WittyRejoinder
Summary: Harry Potter would do anything to go back, to make things right and save them all. But the Master of Death is bound to the Void; all he can do is watch in the dark, watch his other selves fail, again and again. Until one doesn't. Driven by a vision of a life in which he was happy, the Master of Death steals a soul bound for paradise...and nothing will be the same again. Grey!SI/OC.
1. RESURRECTION

_Resurrection_

The silence our unexpected visitor left in his wake was deafening. I didn't even know where to start - it was a toss up between the outrageous claims _Harry fecking Potter_ had made about me being a witch and the fact that the most important people in my, well, existence, I suppose, had _lied_ to me. Then there was my death. I didn't like the troubled look on Harry's face when I told him how I died. I knew how I died. It was quick and painless. One moment I'd been walking to my car, the next I was in the Void. So where did he get off looking at me like that?

"Lothy, you do understand I gave you an abbreviated version of my name because there was a fair chance I'd been the one to kill you?" Lert - no, _Gellert_ \- asked. "And after you told me about those books, about the Hallows. Was I to tell you then?"

I hesitated, briefly, and snuck a glance at Marv - no, _Voldemort_ \- who simply raised an eyebrow at me in challenge. I really hadn't wanted to get into this, I realized miserably, not until all of that nonsense about me being a witch and having somehow known Harry was cleared up. But _Gellert_ wasn't leaving me much of a choice.

"I understand _that_ ," I said at last, "but you're missing the point. It's not your reasons for not telling me that I take issue with, it's the fact that you didn't - "

That they didn't trust me, I finished lamely in my mind, at a loss for words that could be said aloud. They did trust me, that much was self-evident. When I thought of all the little bits and pieces about their lives that they had surrendered, I couldn't say they didn't. My boys were Dark Lords, of course they were paranoid.

It was such a laughably obvious thought that I wanted to cry. My boys were Dark Lords. They were paranoid, powerful, endlessly charismatic leaders that could convince men to die for their respective causes. Of course they would stumble when it came to friendship, to trust. I was fairly certain they weren't using me; there wasn't much use to be had of me that they couldn't have gotten as easily as all the other spirits that had come to live in Portach-upon-Styx.

I might have been the only ghost in the Void that could conjure things, but I'd offered freely the fruits of my not-quite-labour to anyone that came across us. Food, shelter, luxuries. We didn't need it to survive, being dead and all, but it made being forever bound to an endless desert a lot more bearable than it would have been otherwise.

There was no need to be my 'friend' to share in my gift. And there certainly was no need to stay in the flat above my bakery with me, when I would have so happily conjured them any sort of dwelling they pleased. We _were_ friends, or at least as close to friends as two Dark Lords far older than they looked could come with a silly Irish girl who liked to read any and every type of book and hum while she baked.

"That we did not…?" Gellert pressed, and I could almost sense his patience wearing thin. What the forecast was for the man I knew to be as changeable as the sea during a storm, I couldn't guess, but I knew it was best to appease him or he'd be impossible.

"I wish you could have trusted me," I answered simply, "but I understand why that wasn't really an option for you. So consider yourselves forgiven. But I might call you Lerty every so often, Gellert. I rather like it."

Lerty was probably not the most appropriate way to refer to a wizard who was hailed as the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time until Voldemort outdid him, (in Britain, at least) but in comparison to Harry's absurd story about me being a powerful witch and heir to an ancient line, it seemed almost normal.

"Of course, _Spatzi_ ," Gellert crooned, lazy triumph warming every syllable of the words. "Whatever it is you wish."

I fought back a bit of a smirk as he petted my hair in his casually familiar manner; he was laying it on a bit thick, wasn't he? Marv, I mean _Tom_ , snorted belligerently under his breath, no doubt thinking the same as I was.

"You do not speak for _me_ , Gellert." He reproached sharply, his eyes a dark hunter green in the dim light of the Void. "I make no apologies for my actions; my name is my own and if I do not see fit to share it, I will not."

Instead of taking offence at his high-handed manner, I grinned.

"I'm going to call you Tom from now on," I informed him impertinently. "And you're forgiven whether you like it or not."

He sneered at me, but said nothing else, instead fixing his gaze intently ahead of him. Gellert's grin had gone from one of cosy smugness to something more similar to the enthusiastic baring of teeth in greeting of our newly returned visitor. I hadn't even noticed him come up. Or appear. Whatever the Master of Death did these days.

"Right - " Harry began, and was so much like the Harry I'd read about and seen in the movies that I rather wanted to laugh. "Right. I forget that you lot are…new."

He was like a weary professor addressing a group of rowdy teenagers.

"Just - oh, never mind it. Lothiriel, have you, er, come to grips with everything?"

"Harry, if you think I'm a witch, you're mad," I informed him, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. "And I'm dead, in case you haven't noticed."

Harry waved a hand dismissively.

"Not any more mad than a person who decides to play house with the darkest wizards of all time," Harry reasoned, making me flush brilliant red. "And being dead isn't as permanent a status as people seem to think it is. I would know."

He held my gaze thoughtfully until I looked away, and for a moment, it almost seemed possible, that I was who he thought I was. For a moment, at least.

"Alright, say for a moment that you haven't lost the plot completely and you do know me from one of your previous lives." I began, struggling with my well justified scepticism. "Your plan is to bring me back to life somehow as a witch in your world and then…what? Will I be reborn into some random family? I don't much fancy being a baby again. Will I just appear out of nowhere, no money or papers or connections to get by with? How am I supposed to do all those things you think I will without resources?"

If, and I do mean _if_ , I were actually going to be sent to his world, well…that meant I would be leaving the Void. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. On the one hand, getting a chance to be a witch and use magic sounded fantastic! On the other, I would be swept up in the war with Voldemort, possibly harmed and killed if Harry's vague description of my involvement was to be believed. Possibly _tortured_ and killed, even.

I wasn't convinced that leaving the closest friends I had ever had and the town I had created was worth what might end up being a horrible, agonizing death. Leave my comfortable, happy existence as a ghost to face an uncertain future without my friends, without family or fortune to pave the way? No; a Gryffindor I was definitely not.

"You won't be a baby," Harry assured me patiently. "And you won't lack for anything. As long as you can get to Gringotts, a couple drops of blood will solve all your problems. From there you can figure things out yourselves, I think. Tom and Grindelwald will have wands, so they should manage getting you there alright."

I started, and I wasn't the only one. Well, I was the only one who jolted in my seat as though I had been shocked; Tom and Gellert straightened a little in surprise, but other than Tom's scowl at being addressed by name gave no other indication of their thoughts.

"Ourselves?" I parroted, bemusement colouring my tone. "You mean, Gellert and Tom…they'd come back with me?"

Because letting _Gellert Grindelwald_ and _Lord Voldemort_ loose on the unsuspecting magical population was a _brilliant_ idea.

"Why not?" Harry asked flippantly. "It'll be like having your own Crabbe and Goyle. You can never be too safe these days, you know."

I choked on a lungful of air at the image of Tom and Gellert standing on either side of Draco Malfoy like hired thugs and hurriedly pushed it aside for fear of one of the two Dark Lords in question reading my mind. Tom, at least, I knew was far more than proficient enough in legilimency to do so.

But loosing Grindelwald and Voldemort on the world?!

"I - " Oh God, what on earth could I say in response to that? I wasn't so disloyal that I would argue _against_ allowing my boys to roam the earth, but it was disaster waiting to happen! "Wouldn't it be dangerous? What if people recognized them?"

Judging from the barely contained amusement on Harry's face, he was well aware that my expression of concern was reserved, not for my boys, who would surely face lifetime upon lifetime in Azkaban for what they'd done, but for any persons unfortunate enough to recognize and attempt to dispense justice on them. I didn't dare sneak a glance at either of the boys at my side, but then, I hardly needed to. Gellert, no doubt, would be grinning with roguish satisfaction. Tom, of course, wouldn't condescend to make his amusement plain on his face, but the hint of a smirk would grace his mouth anyway.

"I don't think you need to worry about anyone but Dumbledore recognizing them, really," Harry mused conversationally. "And even then, with Grindelwald in Nurmengard and Voldemort out there as a wraith, no one will be able to prove anything. As for any other, er, _difficulties_ that might arise, I'm sure you'll have it all under control."

I opened my mouth to object, because honestly, he couldn't have expected me to be able to step in if Voldemort or Grindelwald decided to have a go at some unlucky aurors, but Harry wasn't done.

"By the way," he continued conversationally, and twisted a heavy looking ring off his finger to hold out to me expectantly. "I, Harry James Potter, Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter, Lord of the Noble House of Gryffindor, do hereby name Lothiriel Muliphen Llywarch, daughter of Liam of the House of Loughlin and Gwenda of the House of Llywarch, heir to the House of Gryffindor. That said, I, Harry James Potter, Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter, Lord of the Noble House of Gryffindor, do hereby renounce the title of Lord of the Noble House of Gryffindor and pass all responsibilities, rights, powers, and properties associated with it to my heir. So mote it be."

He paused, watching the ring in his hand, and looked quite satisfied when the obnoxious ruby set in the centre of it flashed brightly in recognition of his words.

"Here. Take it," he insisted, as though he hadn't left me and my companions utterly taken aback by the impromptu inheritance ceremony.

I don't think it had quite sunk in yet, really, that he'd apparently made me Gryffindor's heir, but that might have been in part due to another, more pressing objection.

"Now I know you're full of it," I accused, making no move whatsoever to accept the ruby ring being held out to me. "I haven't even got a middle name, and if I did it wouldn't be something as awful sounding as Muliphen!"

"Blame whichever one of your ancestors was a Black," Harry advised sagely, "because it's definitely your name. The school register at Hogwarts doesn't lie."

The implication behind the words was enough to momentarily deflect my ire.

"I'm going to Hogwarts?" I asked, and could literally feel any chances of me deciding to stay behind in Portach-upon-Styx dribble down the drain as it occurred to me that being sent back as a witch meant I could do _magic_. "To learn how to cast spells and brew potions?"

A smile that was nothing short of knowing fluttered over Harry's face.

"Absolutely. You'll make a great witch, Lothy," he told me sincerely. "And the name Muliphen isn't so terrible. Alright, so it sounds awful, but you always liked what it meant."

It was a weak attempt to console me, but it did, at least, catch my interest.

"My name's Lothiriel Llywarch-Loughlin," I muttered contrarily, and then gave into my curiosity. "What does Muliphen mean, then?"

"It's the name of a star," Tom muttered at my side, speaking for the first time in Harry's presence. "From the constellation Canis Major. It was a popular name in the Black family during the eighteenth century. It means 'star to swear by.'"

His eyes had been fixed on Harry in undisguised loathing since he'd come back, but he spared me a brief glance when he finished speaking as though he was measuring my worth against the name.

"Its use was discontinued when Muliphen Black VI was disowned for eloping with a vampire on her wedding day. Her father, Eridanus Black, was killed in the resulting feud with the DuPont family, who took offence over her rejection of their heir." He continued, glaring venomously at Harry as he spoke. "It was noted in _Toujours Pur: A History of One of the Most Prolific Houses in Wizarding History_ that her uncle, Antares Black II, was so pleased with his elder brother's death and the assets seized through right of conquest after the DuPont family was exterminated that he considered reinstating her as thanks on the condition that she abandon her vampire husband and marry a candidate of his choosing."

The look on my face was probably one of stupefied disbelief, but not for the reason Tom seemed to assume it was.

"She wasn't reinstated," he snapped, as though that was why I was surprised. "Antares was persuaded to see reason; no self-respecting Black would spread her legs for a vampire. To reinstate a classless wretch like her would have been to cast away his newly gained title."

I flushed. Tom wasn't one for crudity, not usually, at least. It was jarring to hear it coming from his mouth, from the same mouth that snapped at Gellert for being too familiar with me. And in such a vicious tone of censure…

"How do you know all that?" I asked instead, putting what he'd said from my mind completely. "I know you were a prodigy and can probably recite whole books from memory, but why on earth do you know about some girl disowned by the Black family?"

It was hardly pertinent information to his quest of purging the Wizarding World of those of supposedly unworthy blood, after all, and hardly what I imagined he would read about for fun. Centuries old pureblood gossip? Hardly worth his precious time.

The glare he turned on me was startlingly malicious; it wasn't that I didn't think him capable of it, especially now that I knew who he was, but he had never…never looked at me that way before. So hatefully, as though I had wronged him.

"You shouldn't have spoken so vulgarly in front of a lady," Gellert reprimanded loftily, his blue-grey eyes cold as he dropped his arm about my shoulders and drew me in close to his side. "Such coarseness should have been abandoned when you left the filthy muggle hovel you were raised in once and for all."

As soon as he mentioned Tom's upbringing, I understood. Tom wasn't one for crudity, but the story of a witch, the pureblood daughter of an ancient line, eloping with a creature wizards considered beneath them? The parallel was too much to ignore. He'd come across it while trying to find his father, I thought with bated breath, a strange, hard sort of pity filling my stomach. He must have read every book on genealogy in the library trying to find him, and come across his mother and her history instead.

I didn't dare do more than glance at Tom to see what his reaction to Gellert's words would be; I was afraid he would read the understanding in my face.

Tom didn't stand, it would have been beneath him to bolt out of his seat and lose his head like a Gryffindor, but there was murder written on his face and anyone would have been a fool to miss it. Gellert didn't seem to care, though; he grinned as though he'd snatched the last of a hand-made batch of Milchrahmstrudel right from under Tom's nose.

"You lot are impossible," Harry accused, staring at us in a manner that was distinctly unimpressed as he single-handedly cut down the tension between my boys before it came to anything. Tom glared him down hard for the interruption, but Gellert merely studied him with a clinical sort of curiosity. Harry, true to form, ignored them both. "Except for you, Lothy. A bit difficult, maybe, but never impossible."

"Thank you?" I ventured unsurely as Gellert began to stroke my hair.

"For saying that you're only a bit difficult, or for making you Lady Gryffindor?" Harry inquired innocently. I blanched a shade of white previously unknown to man.

"I didn't accept the ring," I reminded him, for some reason feeling particularly at odds with the title he was trying to bestow upon me. "So I'm not Lady anything."

Gellert's fingers trailed to my cheek, his arm around me tightening as though he understood better than I did why my shoulders were suddenly tense and my breathing a little shallow. Harry watched us thoughtfully.

"No," he said at last, his voice almost pitying. "Not yet, at least. But you are Heir until you go to Gringotts for an inheritance test to get your titles officially, and before you argue, I would take a look at your left hand."

I did, and was startled to see a ruby ring of a design similar to the one he had offered me but less grand snugly wrapped around my middle finger.

"Listen," Harry interjected before I could protest. "There isn't much time. You'll probably be sent back any minute now, probably, since I only expected this would take a quarter of an hour and we must be at the tail end of that. Lothiriel, never forget that you're a good person, alright? No matter what happens. You are the most worthy witch in the world; you deserve everything given to you and you are not weak. You're going to be brilliant, and if you ever need proof of it, just remember that not any witch could keep these two in hand."

I flinched, and tried to draw away from him, away from Gellert, away from Tom. His words cut, though I knew he meant them kindly; they cut me to the quick and I wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor and disappear. And keeping these two in hand? Voldemort and Grindelwald? Friends or not, they would kill me for the presumption!

"Calm down, Lothy." Harry instructed kindly. "Death will send you back to January 31st, 1991. You've been granted permission to take Tom and Gellert back with you; they'll have their wands when they arrive, which should make things easier for you. You'll have to make your own way to Gringotts, but once you do you'll have access to your vaults and properties, so you should be alright."

"Permission?" I repeated, my mind working furiously at the implication. We would be sent back to '91, that was Harry's first year. Better still, we would have more than seven months before school to start…to start hunting down horcruxes.

Harry nodded but the movement was nearly lost to me in my sudden understanding. _You made my life good,_ he'd told me. _You gave me the chance at normality I've always wanted._ What else could that mean but that I'd somehow, with the help of Gellert and Tom, managed to cut his Voldemort down at the knees so that he could deliver the finishing blow without losing so much? Saving Sirius, which I would do without hesitation either way, would not be a significant enough change to allow Harry 'normality.' To give him what he implied I would give him, to make this life of all the lives he'd lived the best…

I would have to save _everyone_.

"Could you get permission for another person?" I asked before I even really thought about it; as soon as the words had left my mouth, though, my resolve strengthened. "Can we bring someone else back with us?"

Harry looked taken aback.

"Well, yes? It would depend on who, I think. For one," he began, brow furrowed, "they would have to be from the Void to even be considered, which narrows your options down to dark wizards, basically. Who were you thinking of?"

A Death Eater would definitely meet that condition.

"Regulus Black," I replied instantly. He didn't deserve to die as he did, or at least, the way he died made up for whatever sins he committed as a Death Eater, as brief as his tenure as one was. He knew about the horcruxes and could help us hunt them down.

Harry drew away from me a little, an inscrutable expression on his face.

"Sorry, not him." His features twisted into a fleeting expression of regret at the dismay on my face and he hastily corrected them. "He's…not here. In the Void. Not all dark wizards go to the Void; Merlin didn't, although Morgana did."

He nodded at me, and I chose not to think of the significance of those two names.

"If he was an option, Lothiriel, I'm sure he'd gladly help you," Harry assured me, and then glanced at his watch. "Time's nearly up. Right. So, I'm not actually sure where you're going to appear since you never told me, but supposedly it all worked out so I'm assuming you all appear together. When you get to your vault, you'll find an amulet that looks a bit like a time-turner but isn't one. It's vital that you put it on right then; it's more important than your family ring, alright? It'll protect you from legilimency, which I'm sure you'll appreciate the need for, and, well, you find the other bit out when you read the book."

I had no idea what he was on about and it must have shown on my face because he laughed awkwardly and waved away my uncertainty and then suddenly frowned in concentration.

"I feel like I'm forgetting something," he started, brow furrowing further. "Oh, right. Trust the vampires that share your blood, don't accept sweets from, actually, don't accept sweets from anyone unless they've been so thoroughly checked for spells and potions that Mad-Eye would eat them, remember your namesake when you can't place the picture, and whatever you do, _do not under any circumstances whatsoever_ \- "

I never got the chance to hear what he said because the wind picked up and the ground began to shake beneath us, and though Harry looked perfectly still in the centre of all the pandemonium, Gellert and Tom were caught up in it just as I was.

The world began to spin around us, forming a furious, unremitting vortex that threatened to swallow up the entire expanse of the Void; Gellert clutched me in a grip so tight it hurt as we were lifted off the bench on which we sat and Tom was lost to the groaning hurricane of shadow. I clung to Gellert as best I could, but the force of the wind buffeting us was too strong to fight; the last I saw of him was his outstretched hand and then he was gone and so was everything else.

For a long, miserable moment, I was alone in the dark, in a nothingness more absolute than there had ever been in the Void. And then -

And then I was spat out into a well-lit, cosy-looking kitchen.

"What you doin' in here?" A frightened voice squeaked, startling me nearly out of my wits.

 _Nearly_ out of my wits. _Nearly_.

"Are you Winky?" I asked upon recognizing her, as though I hadn't met her but was aware I would be meeting a house elf at my destination.

She nodded warily.

"You's not supposed to be in here," she accused, looking timid for all that I was aware she was probably preparing herself to expel me from the property before notifying her master.

"It's alright," I assured her, my stomach sinking as I prayed my ruse would work. "Mr. Crouch sent me. I'm here about…" I lowered my voice to nearly a whisper. "I'm here about Barty Jr. It's probably a false alarm, but Mr. Crouch couldn't risk summoning you to the Ministry or nipping back to warn you."

She still looked alarmed, though hopefully more so because of what I was implying than because she didn't trust me.

"I'm bound by the Unbreakable Vow never to reveal the truth about your mistress and how she switched places with Barty." I continued, and surreptitiously crossed my fingers in the folds of the apron I had appeared in for luck. "No one else knows, but a Ministry employee was asking questions about Mr. Crouch's 'guest' that were unsafe to answer. He's sorting everything out right now, but I've been instructed to escort Barty Jr. to safety in the event that Mr. Crouch brings someone round to prove it's just you here."

That sounded plausible enough, didn't it?

"If that happens, I will escort Barty out under his invisibility cloak without magic; once Mr. Crouch has gone or I receive notification that it is safe to return and have Barty Jr. call you, I will bring him safely back to the house and take my leave," I added, figuring that specificity was more in line with what little could be known about Barty Crouch Senior's character. "I doubt it will come to that, though."

Winky seemed far less unsure than she had before, and I fought the urge release the breath I was holding as she nodded.

Where was Gellert? And Tom? Tom had been separated from us first…Didn't Harry say we would arrive together? My head was spinning, whether from the after-effects of returning from the dead or simply from confusion I wasn't sure. What was I doing in Barty Crouch's house, and more importantly, how on earth was I supposed to find Gellert and Tom? Would I even be able to leave the house? Crouch would have had it warded, if only to keep people away from Crouch Jr. Did exiting a property activate wards like trying to enter one? I didn't know how to use any magic and I was wandless besides.

Barty Crouch Jr. was wandless and thus unable to help me even if I promised to take him to Tom, and under the Imperius Curse besides. The only person that could possibly help me get to my friends was Winky, and without Crouch Senior's express order that was unlikely to happen. And unless there happened to be some other person capable of -

My eyes swivelled against their will the vacant expression of the man sitting in the chair not three feet away from me.

If Death believed me capable of keeping Grindelwald and Voldemort in line…then surely a single Death Eater would be manageable? Even if he was mad as a hatter; I had the advantage of being able to promise to deliver him to Tom. I would refrain from bringing it up, though, until I felt I had no other choice.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, making Winky jump. I looked at her apologetically. "Sorry, my ring just buzzed me. It's Mr. Crouch's signal."

Her eyes widened as I flashed the ring Harry had magicked onto me.

"Right," I continued, as though I hadn't startled her purposefully. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure where the door is; I've never been to Mr. Crouch's house before. Would you be so kind as to direct Barty Jr. and I to the door? I'll watch him just beyond the property line until you come get me or Mr. Crouch communicates a false alarm through my ring."

I smiled, sweetly and politely, and when she still looked unsure, I pretended to misunderstand her hesitance.

"Don't worry," I continued gently, "Mr. Crouch told me about the potion Barty is on. I know he's safe to be around as long as he's taken his daily dose."

Still hesitant, I thought, observing her expression. No matter; Tom had taught me well enough to handle this. I _had_ to handle this.

"He _has_ taken his potion, hasn't he?" I asked, trying to sound a little fearful. "Mr. Crouch said he was safe - "

"Master Barty is plenty safe!" Winky insisted, doing a complete one-eighty when it seemed as though I might back out of the plot to keep his existence a secret. "Winky is allowing Master Barty to go with you; Master Barty is safe. Winky will be showing you to the door."

I was torn between the relieved satisfaction I felt at my hastily thrown together plan working and the urge to be sick. I was tricking an innocent being for my own benefit; and worse still, I was plotting to free one of the most dangerous, unstable Death Eaters from imprisonment for the same reason.

"Thank you, Winky," I said magnanimously, even as guilt churned in my stomach and my bottom lip started to quiver. "Thank you very much."

If she lost her job because of me, I would find some way to make it up to her.

"Master Barty must come this way," she encouraged the empty shell that was her master, after giving me a long, funny look for what I'd said. "Master Barty is seeing outside for a little while. Isn't that good, Master Barty?"

There was no response from Barty Jr, but he followed her towards the door with little fuss. Anxiety kicked in again as I wondered if he was going to be able to break through the Imperius Curse's influence at all. He seemed too vacant, as though nothing going on around him was getting through to him at all.

He was covered in his invisibility cloak and Winky permitted me to take hold of his arm to lead him outside. I was careful and conscientious in doing so despite the fact that he was a Death Eater and had helped torture Neville's parents to insanity. He deserved to be treated with dignity just like any other human being, no matter what he had done. It seemed to me as though he wasn't in his right mind, anyway. Aside from being mind-controlled by his father, I amended quietly to myself.

By the time I got him past the property line, I wasn't sure whether I pitied him or was afraid of what he'd be if I was successful in getting through to him.

I didn't know it then, but when I placed my hands on either side of his face and started murmuring encouragement to him, begging him to wake up, I set in motion a chain of events that had, in a bizarre way, gone full circle and ended as it begun. He was a brilliant, brilliant wizard, I told him; if anyone could break through the Imperius it was him. Fight, I pleaded. He needed to fight his father's will; he needed to overcome, overpower him. And when it looked as though my cause was lost, I tried a different tactic.

"The Dark Lord needs you, Barty Crouch Jr," I whispered heatedly at him, resisting the urge to give him a little shake. "Your _lord_ needs you."

I didn't know it then, but the sight of my stupid, freckly face and long, strawberry blonde braids would be the first thing Barty remembered without the haze of his father's Imperius since he'd been smuggled out of the dark of Azkaban. My face, like a particularly incriminating mug shot, would be forever a symbol of rapturous freedom, to one day be picked out of Barty's mind by a curious legilimens.

Of course, I didn't know that then.

The only thing I knew was Barty's hands abruptly there around my throat and the awful, awful thought that Gellert and Tom were going to die with me and it would all be my fault for being so stupid as to think I could keep a weak, wandless _Death Eater_ in line.

"Who are you to speak of the Dark Lord?" He snarled, eyes alight with madness. He'd taken one look at my bare forearm and rightly assumed I wasn't a Death Eater. "Who sent you?"

I was some fecking chancer, wasn't I, thinking for a minute that loosing Barty Crouch Jr from beneath his father's thumb would somehow work out. Gellert, who was probably somewhere seeing the _sun_ for the first time in nearly sixty years, was going to die because of my stupidity. Tom, who had wanted to live so badly he tore his soul to shreds to make sure he would always do so, would have that life snatched away from him because I decided to trust a man I knew to be a murderous, raving lunatic.

The sunshine hitting my face was a cruel reminder of what I was taking away from them. Black spots danced across my vision, looking almost like magic in their strange vividness. I was disconnected, somehow, from my body's desperate struggle for air. My mouth tried vainly to form some sort of response independently of me.

In fact, it rather felt like I was _leaving_ my body.

"Answer me," he snarled, and then faltered. His hands loosened on my throat as his gaze sharpened on my face.

I came back to myself with alarming alacrity as air flooded my lungs and I could breathe again. Mary and Joseph, I'd nearly _died_. I'd nearly died and I hadn't cared a whit past being sorry that I would take Gellert and Tom with me.

"I don't - " My head felt as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to it and I still felt too light, as though I were a scant few inches from floating away. "I - "

I was spared whatever punishment I would have gotten for blurting out a wrong answer by a single word uttered by a cold, furious voice.

"Crucio," Tom snarled in a clipped, short tone, his voice teetering between brisk and angry.

The hands at my throat fell away and then Barty was convulsing on the ground, near foaming at the mouth in agony. I watched for a split second in numb horror before finally moving, grabbing Tom's arm and begging him to stop. Barty was too weak from his years under the Imperius; he would die, and even if he had tried to choke the life out of me not a minute ago, there was something achingly pitiable about his writhing form.

"You can't start handing Unforgivables out like fecking candy, Tom!" I tried, when my pleas for Barty's sake left him unmoved. "You'll bring the Ministry down on us and have your wand snapped and then where will we be?"

That stayed his hand, though he lowered his wand with a belligerent scoff.

"Stand up, Barty Crouch," he ordered, his eyes fixed coolly on the shivering mass that was one of his most devoted followers. "And beg forgiveness of the woman who has returned your master to this world when none of you _faithful_ could do so."

Barty groaned on the floor; it was horrible to watch.

Tom's face twisted into an inhuman sneer and Barty screamed. It was a discordant sound, half agony and half rapture; he clutched at his forearm in adoring awe as though it was the Lamb of God itself stamped there and drew himself up onto his knees.

"My lord," he breathed, his shaky fingers reverently pulling back his sleeve to reveal his writhing Dark Mark. "My lord, you have returned! How?"

In that moment, Tom's face was truly something terrible to behold.

"Am I your lord?" Tom asked so silkily that it felt as though his voice were a tangible shadow slipping silently over my skin. "A _loyal_ servant would have done as I commanded before presuming to question his master."

Barty's face went chalk white.

"Master, forgive me," he pleaded and then, as though catching himself, turned to me. "I beg your forgiveness, Miss. Had I known you had truly been sent by the Dark Lord I would _never_ have presumed to lay a hand on you. I have offered you great insult and in doing so greater insult to my lord who favours you. Forgive me."

I nodded with a slight, not-as-sincere-as-it-could-have-been smile while wondering how on earth he'd gone from sounding like a deranged lunatic to somewhat of a gentleman.

" _He owes you a debt of honour,_ " Tom hissed to me, and I was startled to find that I understood what he was saying, " _for offering you insult. Accept his apology; his family magic will bind you in contract until the debt is repaid. You may be grateful for it later."_

" _I_ \- _"_ I began, and was startled to hear myself hiss. I cleared my throat and thought very hard of my mum's distinct accent, so different from me and my father's despite years of living in Athy. "You had only just broken out of the Imperius after years of being controlled. Your actions were understandable, given that trauma. I forgive you."

"You see how gracious she is?" Tom asked him softly, tilting his head towards me with a glint in his eyes that made me decidedly uncomfortable. "The lady who has done me such great service is none other than the heir of the House of Merlin. I would be very displeased if I were to hear of another incident of you offering her insult."

Barty goggled at me for a brief instant, and only when he had stopped in bemusement did I notice that he had been flicking his tongue like a snake since the instant he'd broken through the Imperius. He recovered quickly, though, and was soon all but literally pressing his forehead to the tips of Tom's shoes. I was sure that if Tom had been wearing robes, and not the muggle clothes he'd worn in the Void, Barty would have been kissing the hem of them.

"Tom, we should go," I murmured quietly, glancing around the street. No one had come running to see who was screaming, so I presumed Tom had put up some sort of silencing charm before torturing Barty. "You can side-along us both, right?"

It sounded awkward coming out of my mouth, _side-along_ , as though I had an infinite amount of experience in such things. I only knew what it was from reading it in the books; Tom had a wand and could get us out of there, away from Winky who would surely begin to suspect something was wrong if we took much longer to answer her or escape.

My stomach churned anxiously at the thought of aurors swooping down on us. Where was Gellert? Oh, I knew he'd be alright; Harry had said he'd get his wand, same as Tom, after all. But I wished he was with us. I hadn't been without him since we'd met.

"Bartemius Crouch," Tom said softly, almost sounding fond in a strange, mocking way. "Will you join your lord, serve him once more as you did in the past? Will you hold to the oaths of allegiance you swore to your master?"

"Always, my lord!" Barty vowed fervently, his eyes bright with manic devotion. "I am loyal! If it wasn't for my blasted father I'd have scoured the world searching for you!"

Tom smiled, and it was a feral, terrible smile. He knew Barty's story from me, of course. It sickened me to realize the possible consequences of the harmless set of books sitting on a shelf in the library of the flat Gellert, Tom, and I shared above my bakery.

This was not the Tom I knew. This was not Voldemort, either. This was the Dark Lord, entirely at ease in his element, at himself at last with a disciple prostrate at his feet.

"Lothiriel," he commanded then, offering me his arm. I took it, fighting the urge to latch onto him like a limpet for fear of being lost or worse, splinched. Harry's description of apparating made it sound far from appealing, and though I knew Tom's skill to be second to none, I hadn't had the benefit of experiencing his ability.

"Barty," he ordered sharply, as though he were speaking to a misbehaved dog. Barty took hold of his arm, looking more alive than I felt, for all that his face was ashen and white, his hands still trembling from the force of Tom's Cruciatus Curse.

I didn't see Tom so much as wave his wand before we disappeared with a pop and were squeezed out into a dimly lit room of dark stone of which the title of most notable feature seemed to be a tie between the utter lack of windows and the foreboding presence of chains hooked to the wall.

"Tom…?" I questioned nervously, glancing back at him and feeling almost relieved to see the slightest touch of amusement on his face.

"Welcome to Nurmengard, Lothiriel. Do make yourself comfortable; apparently the price of an inheritance test was not included in our resurrection package and as such, until we manage to beg, borrow, and steal enough money to cover the cost, this is our new home."

If Tom's savage, scathing tone was any indication, he was displeased with the oversight and our current predicament. And if Tom was _displeased,_ I was terribly, terribly afraid of what Gellert would be. Welcome to Nurmengard, indeed.


	2. GRINGOTTS

_Gringotts_

It took us nearly two weeks to collect the money for the inheritance test. Gellert's assets would be unavailable to us until his other self died, Barty had nothing but the clothes on his back, and Tom needed to go through the same channels as I did to access any of his wealth. It was decided that I would take my inheritance test first, as Tom did not know how much gold if any was left in the Slytherin account.

(His goal, in that case, was being recognized as Lord Slytherin).

I'd asked about that, since it seemed odd that he wouldn't know how much money he had, and found out that he'd been denied access in his previous life because he wasn't a pureblood. Harry had apparently informed him he would, upon being reborn, be a viable heir since Harry had decided to 'make' him a pureblood to enable him to pass himself off as his own grandson, if necessary. (Because there was no way Voldemort would even consider someone with less than pure blood as worthy of bearing his child). Even Dumbledore would be forced to recognise he wasn't Voldemort if he passed such an ancient test of purity.

I asked him when Harry had found the time to tell him that and was surprised to learn that Harry had spoken to both Tom and Gellert individually while speaking to me using some Master-of-Death power neither of them knew anything about. I wasn't magically capable enough yet to see through the glamour of sorts that made it possible, so I'd been none the wiser.

In retrospect, it made a great deal of sense. There was no way Tom or even Gellert would have sat quietly down to listen to Harry speak any way else.

So Tom went out, being the only one both with a wand and a face no one in Germany, 1991 would recognize, to scavenge for supplies. He stole enough muggle money to buy food, which was our main concern due to the fact that most other things could be conjured or transfigured, and was unbelievably lucky enough to stumble across a wizard who he quickly divested of his purse and wand, and sent on his way with a quick obliviate.

By the time he got back to the prison, we had enough food to last us a few days if eaten sparingly, wizarding money to the amount of six galleons, nine sickles, and three knuts, and some spare change in the form of muggle currency. The stolen wand was given to Barty, and from then on it was him that went out, to buy more food and filch money whenever possible. If there weren't enough wizards around to outfit us with galleons, we'd just need to steal enough muggle money to cover the fee after conversion.

When Barty was at home, I was permitted to borrow the stolen wand to begin lessons with Tom and Gellert with the goal that by the time I got my own wand, I'd be able to cast a few spells on my own. They were both insistent on teaching me as much magic as possible before we attended our first year at Hogwarts which I had no objection to.

So we passed the time with lessons when the stolen wand was available, and reading when it wasn't. We ate simple meals I'd thrown together with what we had, and then the time came that Tom, with a triumphant smirk on his face, announced that, after nearly two weeks practically imprisoned in the bowels of Nurmengard, we had enough.

We had enough muggle money when paired with Tom's initial bounty off the one and only wizard we'd come across to equal the precise amount of one hundred and twenty-seven galleons, sixteen sickles, and twenty-six knuts. The inheritance test I was to take, being the most thorough one available that could trace one's lineage back even to ancient times, such as when Circe ruled in Greece, cost one hundred and twenty galleons to take. It was the reason no one ever bothered with it; a hundred and twenty galleons on a test that could in all likelihood yield no profit?

No, I didn't think so.

Of course, most people didn't have the Master-of-Death's personal assurance that they were heir apparent to an extremely wealthy line, which was precisely what I had before he'd made me his heir to the title of Gryffindor. To Gringotts, then, we would go.

We had planned the trip meticulously. We couldn't just waltz into Diagon Alley expecting no one to recognize Gellert or even Tom. If we had been reincarnated as children, we'd have had little enough difficulty. As it was, we all looked exactly as we had in the Void, meaning that there was an unfortunate chance that Gellert or Tom might be recognized. Barty had a similar problem, though one exacerbated by the fact that he was a more recent graduate of Hogwarts and might bump into some of his peers.

Our respective ages were the main problem; in the Void, you were not exclusively represented as you were in the instant in which you died but rather as you were at one or another period of particular significance in your life. I looked the same age as I'd been when I died when I appeared in the Void, only for whatever bizarre reason my hair was as long as it had been when I was a little girl.

Gellert appeared as he had been, he confided in me one day as we thumbed through the library in his lair, the day he procured the Elder Wand from Gregorovitch. He'd been fortunate, he mused, that the triumph he had felt then was stronger than the despair he'd felt when he was left to rot in the darkness of his cell. Otherwise, he might very well have appeared as his older, defeated self.

Tom was himself as he had been working at Borgin and Burkes, of all things, because the satisfaction he had felt upon acquiring the locket that was his family heirloom was the last time he had felt anything so strongly before he split his soul again and was no longer human enough for any of his later years to count. The latter reasoning was conjecture on my part, but the rest Tom had told me himself while we waited for Barty to come back with food.

The problem was that Tom looked nineteen, I looked twenty, and Gellert looked twenty-three. Not particularly appropriate for first years at Hogwarts. Gellert said it was nothing to worry about; Harry had told him that things would be sorted out once I had access to my vaults. Until then, though, we needed to be careful.

Three children were unlikely to be looked twice at, even less suspected as Dark Lords, and growing older within sight of the public would cement the idea that we were just that - normal children. Three adults, one of which looked suspiciously similar to a long-defeated dark lord and another which some might recognize as the charming young man who had worked in Knockturn Alley could easily be subject to scrutiny.

We would go to Diagon Alley and head directly for Gringotts; the bank was neutral ground we would be safe on, so we could take our time investigating the contents of our respective vaults. We'd collect money for supplies, and see what properties, if any, we owned that we could move into immediately.

First, the bank. Then Ollivander's for my wand; I'd be going in just myself and Gellert since Ollivander would remember Tom. Once I'd gotten my wand, we'd meet Tom at Eeylop's Owl Emporium to purchase owls. After that, if there was time, we'd stop to have our measurements taken and put in an order for robes. If there wasn't time, we'd skip to the last step, which was to retrieve mail order catalogues from each shop of interest so that we could make necessary purchases remotely when needed.

I would take the stolen wand with me just in case something went wrong and I needed to defend myself; I could successfully set something on fire, stupefy a grown man, and had, through careful, careful coaching, become good enough with the bone-breaking curse to break a rib, if I was lucky. If I was, I could use it well enough that upon connecting it would feel like being punched by a bowling ball. They were three of the five spells I'd learned thus far, the other two being the summoning charm and banishing charm.

I'd been leery of learning how to set things on fire without learning how to conjure water to put them out, but Gellert had happily assured me that since the point of learning _Incendio_ was for use in self-defence, I wouldn't need to put it out when I used it since setting my enemies on fire was the idea. It wasn't until then that I realized that he and Tom actually expected me to use the spell to hurt someone at some point.

For better or worse, though, when it came time to gather around the port key Barty had made for us, the unassuming cherry wand was tucked into a little holster Gellert had transfigured for my temporary use.

"Just say the password and it will bring you back," Barty reminded me, nearly trembling in pleasure at having been asked to use his skills to his lord's benefit.

"I will," I promised, and smiled a little unsurely at him. "Thank you, Barty."

Tom had commanded I hold onto the port key, as he and Gellert could apparate and had been keyed into the wards of the lair, as I'd taken to calling it. The wards were meant to assist in guiding and disguising international apparation, making it safe, secret, and simple for Gellert to return to his safe house even under duress. So when Gellert, upon arriving, had tracked Tom down using a hair nicked shortly after Harry first informed us we would be leaving, he had been able to quickly retrieve him. He tracked me down with the same method and sent Tom to fetch me, awaiting Tom's attempt to apparate back in order to add me to the wards before I was expelled (and probably splinched).

Barty was very fortunate Gellert had decided to allow him through the wards as well, which he only done out of curiosity as to 'what kind of stray we were returning with.'

Which thus allowed for my second attempt at travelling the wizarding way. We would take a port key to Diagon Alley, leaving Barty behind due to risk of him being recognized and thus drawing unwanted attention to us. I couldn't apparate, so if things went wrong, I was to activate the port key to get away, even if my attacker was holding on to me. This decision was reached with the knowledge that Barty was competent (and deranged) enough to take down an attacker with or without the stolen wand, should one be brought back with me.

"If we're all ready?" Gellert inquired impatiently; he'd been dying to get out since we'd arrived. No one blamed him.

"Silmaril," Tom stated dryly in answer, (I picked the password), and then we were gone.

Port key travel, I mused, noting the pull at my stomach that turned into an insistent tug before spitting us out at our destination without bowling us over or knocking us flat, was no where near as awful as Harry described it in the books. We arrived standing, for one. I didn't even feel all that sick. It was as simple as an insistent tug at my navel and then there was Diagon Alley, and Gringotts looming ahead of us.

"That wasn't nearly as terrible as I'd thought it'd be," I remarked, pleasantly surprised.

Gellert snorted.

"That's because Bartemius is particularly adept at creating balanced port keys." Tom informed me, his eyes sharp as he scanned the Alley. "This one was set for three people; if he'd come with us after setting it, we would have likely been thrown around upon arriving."

That explained it, I thought, thinking of how Harry and Cedric had been tossed into the graveyard. Although, in the same breath it did not speak highly of Ministry port key makers, considering how Harry felt going to the Quidditch World Cup. Or maybe it just spoke of Barty's vastly superior skill?

"Gringotts first," Tom reminded me grimly, casting his disdainful gaze over the bright, cheerful colours of the alley before starting off.

Gellert offered me his arm, which I took, and then the pair of us followed as Tom slipped through the busy street like a shadow stealing away from the sun.

I think I drew more attention that either of them did, mainly because all the paranoia I'd been surrounded by concerning our little outing had apparently gotten to me and I was glancing around looking generally suspicious. What if someone _did_ recognize them? Didn't wizards have longer life-spans than normal people? It would be a bit of a push for Gellert, but Tom was definitely within range of memory. What if -

The interior of Gringotts took my breath away.

"You're gawking like a muggle," Tom reprimanded me disdainfully.

"Don't listen to him, Spatzi," Gellert told me patiently, hiding a malicious smirk beneath a haughty sniffle. "Gawk like a muggle if you like; you've still got purer blood than all of the wizards in this room, _present company most certainly included_."

Tom's glare was scathing and, considering the way Gellert grinned as he swept past us to the next available teller, rather well deserved. Gellert knew how sensitive Tom was about his heritage, he was baiting a viper and would be bitten if he kept it up.

We caught up to Gellert as he slid our bag of money onto the teller's desk and announced that we would like to have it converted to wizarding currency, firstly, and that secondly we had a candidate who wished to take an inheritance test. And then he pulled me forward, where I stood awkwardly as the goblin sneered down at me over the edge of his desk. I was fairly certain, in that instant, that goblin desks were designed for the very purpose of sneering at wizards and witches while they were literally as beneath them as wizards had the audacity to think goblins metaphorically were.

"Very well," the goblin said, and took the purse from Gellert and proceeded to inform us that, "There is a five galleon fee for money exchange involving a sum between one hundred and one hundred and fifty galleons."

Gellert nodded and waved his hand dismissively; we had thought of that already and saved accordingly.

He dumped the contents of it on the desk and methodically sorted it into different denominations of _Deutsche Mark_ and _Pfennig_. We had come up with DM 1.779,31, which were the currency of the part of Germany we were in at the time. That, we had calculated using the exchange rates printed in a muggle newspaper, was equal to £612.50. Those were the exchange rates from January of 1991; they were outdated by nearly a month, but it seemed they were still accurate, because we had calculated a return of -

"122 galleons, 16 Sickles, and 26 knuts is your change." The goblin stated, counting gold coins into the bag as the muggle money vanished to who knows where. It was precisely what we had expected. Well, once the five galleon fee was subtracted.

"I presume the inheritance test will be paid for by this sum?" The goblin asked snidely, and I wondered if it was really that obvious we were utterly broke.

"Yes, it will," Tom answered him sharply, and then gave me a push forward. "This is the candidate. She'll take the Ancient Line test."

The goblin's grin widened.

"I'm afraid the sum you have provided is inadequate. The Ancient Line test, which can trace a witch or wizard's lineage back to 163 B.C., has cost one hundred and _fifty_ galleons to take since 1963." He informed us, glancing gleefully at the sudden misery in my face. "I expect that will be all?"

Tom looked as though he wanted to murder him and Gellert had a strange expression on his face that seemed to be a cross between actual, genuine disappointment, and a little amusement. It meant we would be returning to Nurmengard, which was the last thing Gellert wanted to do, but at least it gave him something to torment Tom over, (since Tom had calculated our costs) until Barty collected another thirty or so galleons worth.

My hand clenched reflexively into a fist at my side as I thought of the haunted look on Gellert's face sometimes, when he woke up alone in the dark. There had to be some other way, I thought desperately, some way to avoid going back to that awful place.

And, as easily as that, the thought struck me in form of the discomfort of having a ring on while making a fist.

"Wait!" I exclaimed hurriedly, causing Tom and Gellert to glance at me in something not unlike surprise. "What about this?"

I twisted the ring off my finger, practically thrusting it in the poor goblin's face.

"This is an heir's ring, right? Can it open a vault?" I asked, nearly bouncing in place as the goblin, whose name I still didn't know, picked it up to examine it. He turned it in his hand and his eyes widened a fraction before he fixed me with an inscrutable glance.

"No," he said carefully, consideration on his features. "Only the ring of the head of a family or, in this case, a lord can do that. Since there is no lord to grant you permission, and there are no records of the previous lord granting you the title of heir, you cannot be granted access without prior passing an inheritance test."

My face fell.

"However," the goblin continued, the ring clutched in his long, bony fingers. "The fact that you were able to wear this ring means you are indeed the one and only heir of that house."

Hope blossomed in my chest; perhaps returning to Nurmengard _could_ be avoided.

"Well, since I have proof that I'm an heir, can I take the test and pay the difference with money from the vault?" I asked eagerly.

The goblin shook his head, upper lip curling in distaste as he reluctantly shoved the ring back in my face.

"No, you may not take the test until you have paid the fee." He refused with a tone of finality that made other people start to look in our direction. My cheeks burned furious red with embarrassment.

"What about," I began, but wasn't sure what there was left to do. Gellert couldn't go back to Nurmengard. He just couldn't. "What if I gave you the ring as insurance?"

" _No_ ," Tom hissed in outraged parseltongue; but it was short enough a word to sound like he simply exhaled sharply through his teeth.

Even Gellert put a hand on my arm as though to tell me that I'd been stupid, but I didn't see what they were on about. Harry had told me I had two vaults essentially in the bag; all I had to do was take the test. If offering the ring as insurance worked, then we'd do it. It wasn't as though I was giving it away.

"You would offer to a goblin freely your inheritance? For the paltry sum of twenty-seven galleons and three knuts?" He asked, and I suddenly understood why Tom's murderous look was directed at me now.

"I wouldn't if I wasn't sure," I said, and swallowed. I mean, he had essentially confirmed that the Gryffindor vault Harry had given me was mine, and there was the vault Harry had said was my actual, got-it-from-my-parents birthright.

There was a brief interlude in which I was sure the goblin would laugh, but it ended and then he was all business.

"Hold out your wand arm," he commanded briskly. I stuck out my left without thinking, reasonably sure he meant the hand I wrote with.

He drew a knife from under his desk, a silver one that glinted maliciously in the light. Goblin silver, I thought, thinking that it was beautiful and wondering if Gryffindor's sword was the same sort of pretty. I made myself look as the knife slid across my palm in an immaculately straight line and made a promise to myself. The world I was in was real, it wasn't safe, and by some strange twist of fate I'd been blessed with a second chance in it. Not only that, but a second chance in which I was blessed with magic and hopefully wealth and even childhood again; I would do whatever it took to stay alive, to keep Tom and Gellert alive, and to fulfil to the best of my ability Harry's hope for a better life. I would save people when I could, and I would do what I could to improve Wizarding Society.

Maybe the majority of my ideas for the latter were based on fan fictions I'd read in life, but it was a good goal to work towards, wasn't it? At least I'd have a start.

I watched as my blood dripped onto a squat, shallow bowl, drop by drop, dark red against gold. I would make this second life perfect, I swore, or as close as I could get. And…it was a strange thought that flitted through my head as I took in the angry red line on my hand, but it was one backed with an inner fury I didn't know I had.

 _No one would ever hurt me again._

Perhaps it was the sight of my blood dripping into the bowl, the searing pain I felt as the goblin mercilessly squeezed a few more drops out of the cut on my palm. But I swore then and there that I would become a master of the Dark Arts if that's what it took; I would _never_ let _anyone_ hurt me again. I would arm myself and fight, I would never take anything lying down again. I wasn't sure what it was that motivated me so passionately, but on my life I would never, ever be afraid and helpless. Not again.

The goblin waved his hand over the blood, doing some sort of magic, no doubt, and then, very carefully, poured it slowly onto a tremendously large piece of parchment.

And then, I saw a sight a _nearly hysterically laughing_ Tom later assured me I would never see again - an utterly gobsmacked goblin.

"Lothiriel Muliphen Llywarch, you are declared Lord of the Exalted and Most Ancient House of Merlin, Lady of the Noble House of Gryffindor, Proxy of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and Heiress Potential of the Noble House of Ravenclaw."

I shivered at the thought that Harry had been right.

"Lord Merlin?" Tom demanded, not quite pushing me out of the way to stand right in front of the desk. "You're sure it's Lord and not Lady?"

The goblin nodded with a sneer on his face.

"I do not make mistakes, and this parchment doesn't lie."

Tom stood briefly still before actually picking me up and spinning me around.

"Brilliant girl!" He muttered, holding me close enough that I felt trapped against him. "You brilliant, brilliant girl."

I stood stock still until he let go of me. My hands had only very tentatively touched his back in the ghost of an embrace; I'd been too shocked by his bizarre behaviour to do much else. Gellert's fingers brushed over my wrist in a comforting gesture as I managed to at last tear my eyes from Tom. What on earth had that been about?

"I would like," I began, and then decided to correct a grievous oversight I'd been overlooking practically since the start of the conversation. "I'm terribly sorry, but if you don't mind, I would like to know your name? It was awfully rude of me not to ask it. I'm Lothiriel; these are my friends Gellert and Tom."

The goblin fixed me with a scrutinizing glare and I felt that I'd insulted him.

"Gornuk," he supplied after a moment, and briskly moved on. "I presume you have further business with us in light of your recent inheritances?"

"Yes," I said with a hasty nod. "I would like for Tom to take an inheritance test like I did; I suppose you can take it out of whichever of my vaults will cover the cost. Please take the difference of my test's payment from the same vault, if possible."

Gornuk nodded, making a note of that on a spare piece of parchment while motioning forward an assistant goblin for another inheritance test bowl, as the one he'd used for me was contaminated by my blood and could not be cleaned by magic as magic residue could affect the results.

"Also, I have a question," I began, brow furrowed in thought. "I thought I was heir to the Gryffindor line, not it's…lady."

The very idea made my skin crawl. _Lady_. That'll be right.

"An heir will remain heir until reaching his majority or, in more unusual cases, until such age as the family magic chooses to accept him." Gornuk informed me. "You are over the age of seventeen, correct?"

That's right, I was, I thought with some bewilderment. How the hang were we to go to Hogwarts like this? It didn't make sense, but Harry had been quite clear.

"Shall we get on with the test?" Tom interrupted, his eyes flashing with a dangerous sort of impatience. His sleeve was rolled up and his arm held at the ready; honestly, I hadn't even noticed the assistant come back with the bowl and a clean sheet of parchment.

Gornuk took Tom's hand and cut it with a different but no less beautiful knife, letting the blood drip into the bowl just as he had with me. Surprise flickered across his face briefly, but it seemed I had exhausted his capacity for shock because he cast it aside quickly in favour of making the expected announcement.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, you are declared Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Slytherin, Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Peverell, Head of the Most Ancient House of Gaunt, and Heir Potential of the Noble House of Ravenclaw."

Tom's face was one of smug, smug satisfaction and the faintest glimmer of amused surprised, as though he hadn't expected Peverell and Ravenclaw. I considered it for a moment before realizing that he probably hadn't. His claim to Slytherin he had expected; his claim to Gaunt he knew about. I didn't understand what Heir Potential meant, but you could practically hear the capitalization of each word in Gornuk's tone, so I presumed since it was apparently important enough to list along with lordships that it was significant enough to surprise Tom.

"Of course," I murmured aloud, thinking of his claim to Peverell. "Harry's descended from the third brother; you probably gained lordship through the Gaunt family. They handed down the Stone for years without knowing what it was. If they were descended from the second brother, well, middle brother trumps youngest brother in the line of succession."

Tom grinned, and it was a savage look of amusement.

"I wonder if the old fool knew?" He wondered, making a strange sort of strangled hissing sound that I thought almost sounded like he was chuckling. He caught my curious glance of question and shook his head slightly. He'd tell me later, I hoped.

"We would like to be taken to our vaults," he said high-handedly to Gornuk instead.

"Certainly," Gornuk sneered at him, less obviously this time, but not so subtly as for him to miss it. "This way."

I hadn't been sure on the way to the cart whether or not I was excited or full of dread. The Gringotts carts, well, I minded what they were like in the film. So I wasn't sure if I was going to embarrass myself by bawling like a baby or if I was actually going to enjoy it. I was tempted to ask how fast the carts went, but thought better of it.

"How tedious," Gellert complained as we settled in. It gave me hope.

Tom's face didn't.

"I hate these things," he grumbled under his breath, taking his place at my side.

That very statement likely sealed our fate, because Gornuk turned back towards us with a wide, leering grin, pulled the lever, and then my question was answered.

"Vault 1001," Gornuk announced when we came to a stop, "through 1009. Lord Llywarch, you will be required to activate the blood seal on vaults 1001, 1008, and 1009 before being permitted to enter any associated vaults. Stand here and place your hand on the door."

My vaults, I was sure, were at the absolute rock bottom of Gringotts. The cart ride - it wasn't even a cart ride! We'd just plummeted down into nothingness. Taken the fast track to hell. The cart, I think, had stopped but my heart was still racing. I hadn't even had time to scream, although I was sure I would regard that as a good thing later.

"Miss Llywarch," the goblin's annoyed voice demanded. "If you would be so kind."

I stared at him blankly for a minute before Gellert pinched my cheek and nearly shoved me off the cart. I tumbled off it, nearly knocked Tom over, and then did as I was told and placed my hand on the door. A sharp pain in my palm struck without warning and I instinctively tugged my hand back to safety.

My blood glistened red on the door and then disappeared.

"Very good, Miss Llywarch," Gornuk said, and then placed both of his hands on the door and began dragging them downwards, letting his pointed fingers drag deep into the strange liquid-like metal of the door. Blackness melted away from it, revealing the image of a dragon in the metal which reared and seemed to rise out of its place in the metal.

"Speak to it, Miss Llywarch." Gornuk ordered sharply. "Command it to open."

" _Open,"_ I hissed instinctively in parseltongue. " _The Lord of your master's line is returned for her inheritance."_

The dragon roared silently and faded back into the water-dark until there was nothing left but a smooth, polished surface. The door swung open and torches flared to life inside, two by two, down what seemed like a great hall filled with piles and piles of gold.

"Lothiriel and I will be requiring spelled purses to link to our respective accounts," Tom began, brow furrowed in concentration. "Blood-bound, of course, with the best anti-thievery enchantments available. Your strongest lose-not charm as well, I think."

I wandered into the vault curiously, ignoring the money as I searched for the thing Harry had told me to find. Like a time turner, but not one, he'd said. There didn't seem to be anything _but_ gold in the vault, though.

"I also expect that my heritage will be kept secret until such time as I am prepared to reveal it," Tom continued somewhere behind me.

Like a time-turner, I thought, but rapidly came to the conclusion that this vault was entirely dedicated to money. Galleons everywhere, with the most ridiculous sight I'd ever seen in form of two separate piles, one containing sixteen sickles and the other three knuts.

I snickered a little before sobering. The amulet that wasn't a time-turner would protect me from legilimency. I needed to find it; Tom and Gellert already knew everything I knew, but I trusted them and they were both versed in occlumency. I was the weak point, and Harry had pointed me at a solution that would hold until I could keep people out of my head on my own. I needed to find it.

As Gornuk would be supplying Tom and I with our magic purses upon returning to the atrium, I didn't need to grab any money before I left, so Gornuk just closed my vault and we moved on to the next one. 1002 was full of what were no doubt priceless, probably magical artefacts that I skimmed over searching for the amulet. Vault 1003 was a vast library that I was practically slavering over in want. Even Tom and Gellert, those consummate masters of magic, looked lustfully in the direction of the books, but there wasn't time. Later, I promised the shelves of knowledge. Soon.

It was in vault 1004 that I found what I was searching for. I spoke to the dragon guarding the door in parseltongue, as I had the others, and when it let me through there was nothing but a pedestal at the end of a great hall. My pulse quickened in my veins and I jogged over to it to see what was on it.

An amulet lay innocently across a musty old book. It did look like a time-turner, somewhat; the rings around it were nearly the same, although the writing was in what looked like Welsh, and the centre was a dragon twined about a little hourglass. There was no mistaking it; this was the amulet Harry had mentioned. I couldn't imagine anything looking more like a time-turner while obviously not being one. I picked up the book, sensing its importance, and stuffed it into my bag. And then I did what Tom and Gellert would have called a thoughtlessly stupid thing in slipping an amulet of unknown origin that hadn't been checked for curses of any kind over my head.

A strangled cry came from behind me even as I yelped, and then suddenly I was more than a foot nearer the ground than I had been before.

"Lothy, are you alright?" called Gellert, though there was something strange about his voice. "Lothy, what happened?"

"I'm fine!" I tried to respond, but the words died in my mouth when I noticed how the pitch of my voice had changed. I looked down at myself. "Gellert, I think I've shrunk."

The first traces of panic were beginning to bleed into my voice.

"Lerty, I've either shrunk or I'm ten again. Oh, God. I'm ten. Or eleven, maybe. Well, no, I haven't had my birthday yet." I rambled, and then was struck by a sudden moment of clarity. Of course I was ten. I would turn eleven on the 31st of August and then I would be going to Hogwarts. Brilliant.

"Figured it out, have you?" Tom asked snidely, still managing to sound like the haughty man I'd spoken to not a moment ago despite the handicap of his newly childish voice.

He might have sounded unimpressed, but a quick glance at Gellert confirmed my train of thought. As children, there was no need to rush. We would have time to supply ourselves well; the danger to Gellert and Tom was far diminished by our apparent youth.

Gornuk seemed almost suspiciously unsurprised by this turn of events.

I continued visiting my chain of vaults; 1005, 1006, and 1007 had belonged to a famous ancestress of mine whose line had long since been incorporated into Merlin's. They were filled with an only slightly less vast amount of gold and a wider variety of priceless artefacts. There was no library, but there was a slew of potions ingredients that Tom assured me were rare beyond monetary value, preserved in strange jars charmed with stasis spells. There were also an assortment of miscellaneous items, such as bolts of precious acromantula silk in every colour and heavy rolls of what looked to be dragon hide.

The last two vaults associated with the line of Merlin both needed my blood to open; 1008 had a tree depicted on a door of the same liquid-like metal that actually attempted to strangle me when I took too long to place my bleeding palm to the door, and 1009 was guarded by a hooded sorcerer who reached out and took my hand, brought it to his mouth, and sank his teeth into my palm to draw the necessary amount of blood.

Unlike the other door guardians, he did not melt back into a still engraving, but rather disappeared in a burst of black smoke, leaving a smooth, polished surface behind. The tree vault was full of interesting items that seemed more geared to ancient rituals than anything else, along with a fair bit of gold and a few books. Vault 1009 was filled dark artefacts and a very generous amount of gold. At Gellert's intrigued instruction, I removed a set of jewellery that I shuddered to think was probably real diamonds.

Tom, ever the connoisseur of ancient, valuable objects, informed us that the set was a parure and that the style of it was known as _en pampilles_ and it was designed in a series of 'foliate figure-of-eight links,' whatever that meant, and that the spells on it were dark and powerful and very likely geared towards protection. It was worth, he concluded, a small fortune and it would befit my new title to wear it, once it had been checked for curses or other harmful magics.

The box was dropped into the bag I'd brought and then we were back in the cart and off to visit the last of my vaults and Tom's. The first of Tom's we came to was vault 971, which was on the floor above mine and belonged to the Peverell family. There was a substantial amount of gold there, enough to have kept the Gaunt family going by a Malfoy's standards for five or six generations; no doubt they had never discovered their claim to it, or it would have been empty by now. Then, we were off to vaults 903, the Slytherin family vault which we learned could only be opened by a true lord. It held a _very_ substantial amount of gold, possibly in part due to the fact that no one had been able to claim it in centuries and it, like mine, had sat there collecting interest and dust that length of time. The Gaunt family, as we were informed, lost their Noble status around the same time they lost the gold due to the name of Gaunt, thus losing the required ability to inherit lordship needed to receive any inheritance from Slytherin. They didn't even have a vault at Gringotts anymore. Having skipped over the Gaunt part of Tom's inheritance due to this fact, we made our way to 899, which was the Gryffindor vault. There wasn't much actual gold in the vault, as a large percentage of the vault's income and interest went towards funding Hogwarts, but there were several objects, both magical and simply valuable.

Our last stop was a surprise to all three of us, really, was vault 710, which I was informed was an allowance vault for Lothiriel M. Llywarch, Proxy of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, as left to her by its previous Lord. It was located near the other individual vaults pertaining to members of the Black family that did not have access to the family vault a floor beneath them, and unlike that of those other members, was topped-up from the Black family vault to the tune of 1,000 galleons every month from the moment the account was made active and was refilled once a year to maintain the balance of the account at 30,000 galleons.

It was hardly anything in comparison to what I had as Lord Merlin, but it was a _lot_. It was £150,000 a year, not counting the added monthly stipend that could, added up, equal to 12,000 galleons - an additional £60,000 to _top up the account_! What on earth had Orion Black been thinking to set aside such an amount for a proxy's use? What was a proxy anyway? And how had I even become one to the House of Black?

I was so caught up in that line of thinking that I missed most of the cart ride back, though I had to admit, none of the cart rides had been anywhere near as terrible as the first one, mainly because the ride down to vault 1001 had been rounding a corner and then plummeting down ten levels of Gringotts. It wasn't until Gellert nudged me with his elbow that I snapped out of it; I had to conclude my business with Gornuk, as Tom did, and as soon as it was done we were on our way out.

We would procure an owl, we decided, and send a letter to Gringotts asking for them to draw up a list of whatever properties we owned and alliances our houses held to be presented during a meeting as soon as possible. At that meeting, we would formally receive our rings of lordship and discuss any other outstanding business with our accounts and decide whether we were satisfied with our designated account managers. We would stay in Nuremburg until we had a property fit to house us; no matter how wonderful a bed at the Leaky Cauldron seemed in comparison, we couldn't bring Barty with us for obvious reasons, and I wouldn't leave him. We would buy supplies at our leisure and head back with dinner.

"But before all these things, lelkem," Gellert pronounced, the endearment making my cheeks flush in pleasure, "there is a lovely young witch needing her own wand, yes?"

I think I managed to drag him and a disgruntled Tom down the long hall of the atrium and out the door in record time.


	3. DIAGON ALLEY

_Diagon Alley_

Ollivander's was actually one of the most suspicious looking shops I had ever seen. Of course, I hadn't been to Knockturn yet, but I rather thought Ollivander's could give it a run for its money. It was dimly lit, dusty, and the way all the wands were boxed and shelved made it look more like an abandoned warehouse used for nefarious purposes than anything else. It was intimidating, really, but in no way did it curtail my excitement.

I was getting a wand! My own wand!

Alright, I'll admit my excitement was curtailed eventually, but only a bit and only because I hadn't realized how long it actually took to have a wand fitted. Mr. Ollivander had been surprised but inordinately pleased upon learning I was left-handed.

"Very unusual," he'd praised. "And rarer still among wizards than it is among muggles."

When, much to Gellert's amusement, the eighteenth wand I'd tried backfired spectacularly and shattered every piece of glass in our immediate vicinity, I didn't think being left-handed was very special at all. In fact, I was convinced it was the cause of my current misery. What if none of the wands chose me? Was I defective?

"Try this one, Miss Llywarch," Ollivander suggested kindly. "Dogwood with redwood handle, phoenix feather core, thirteen inches in length. Rather inflexible."

It was a pretty, was my first thought. The handle was as a rich, rich red stained wood, made of sinuous vines snaking up the twisted length of the wand before growing into the length of it as though to reach the core inside. The long bit was reddish too, but far less so than the handle, and looking at it I could really believe that it was inflexible.

It was a surprisingly natural looking wand, very pointed, and with a sleek, surprisingly simple construction. Honestly, it seemed as though the handle just sort of grew into the rest of it. It was pretty, and I got the sense it was rather mischievous too.

I reached out and took it, and then I was filled with a sense of wholeness I had never felt before. Silver ribbons shot from the tip of the wand quick as a whippet, raining down from the sky in a dazzlingly pretty display of delicate showmanship. The ribbons melted into a shower of tiny, glittering points of light that suddenly came bursting back to life like firecrackers, whistling merrily as silver stars became Catherine Wheels all around.

I turned to grin at Gellert excitedly and was rewarded by an indulgent smirk. There was pride there too, I think; my fireworks had filled the whole shop. Ollivander clapped and said, "Very nicely done, Miss Llywarch. Very nicely done indeed. That wand will serve you well through the best of times, and perhaps surprise you in the dark ones."

Beaming, I dug through my charmed purse and withdrew the thirteen galleons my wand cost and paid the man, very much pleased with my purchase.

"Your turn, Lerty," I announced cheerfully, wishing Tom had been with us to see me get my wand. Gellert had recovered quickly from whatever had shocked him and nodded at me with a sharp, satisfied smile.

"Right-handed," he told Ollivander, and then the great search began again.

Tom had gone to Flourish and Blotts to pick up some books suitable for a complete beginner to aid in teaching me and had probably moved on to Madam Malkin's to be fitted for robes. I'd forgotten to give him the little slip of paper I'd brought with me detailing Barty's measurements; Barty obviously couldn't come himself but he, like the rest of us, was in desperate need of new clothes and I was sure he'd appreciate wizarding clothes more than what muggle clothes he could pick up back in Germany.

Well, when we caught up to Tom I'd make sure to have something made up for Barty. I'd grown fond of him, honestly, despite the fact that he really was a deranged lunatic. Around Tom he seemed like a young boy, desperate for approval. I wondered if he'd ever gotten it from his father; he acted as though he didn't know what it was like to be recognized. It was an awfully sad thing to notice, but once you did you couldn't stop.

"Elder wood with an aspen handle. Chimera scale fragment as its core, of all things, measuring fourteen and a half inches in length. _Quite_ unyielding," Ollivander mused, handing it handle first to Gellert. "It's been in the back, gathering dust for a very long time. My great-great-great grandfather made it, you know. A highly unusual piece made of very rare components; if I am remembering correctly, it is near four centuries old."

When his fingers closed around it, the whole shop seemed to tremble as jet black light erupted from the wand like a dark hunter, dissipating into heavy smoke that had no sooner begun to settle that it caught fire like a trail of gunpowder and spawned a panther made up of brightly burning flame. It roared and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

"Curious," Ollivander murmured, actual shock colouring his features as he glanced from Gellert to me with furrowed brows. "Very curious. It's not often I pair a wand made with two types of wood; to have paired _two_ in one day is nothing short of astonishing. Particularly in the case of such particular wands."

"What does it mean to have two types of wood?" I asked curiously. "Is there a special significance? What sort of traits does a wand like mine look for in a witch?"

Oh, come on, as if anyone wouldn't want to know that after having gotten theirs on Pottermore. Mine had been a yew wand, dragon core, thirteen inches, surprisingly swishy. So I'd read up on that but only that; I didn't know anything at all about my proper wand.

Ollivander smiled almost appreciatively and I decided then and there that I actually quite liked him. Maybe he was a little odd, but anyone that loved their craft that much was bound to be a little eccentric. I was hardly any better, after all.

"A most astute question, my lord," Ollivander commended, nodding his head. "Wands such as yours and that of your friend's are unique in that the chosen core resonates so strongly with you that a single type of wood could not adequately balance it. The opposite is true in wands which have a dual or blended core. In your case, some aspect of the phoenix, such as an affinity with fire or healing, the ability to lift the hearts of those who hear its song, or perhaps even in a metaphorical sense the idea of rebirth, was so uniquely suited to you that the wood you have the greatest natural affinity for would have been unable to contain it."

I twitched a little when he mentioned rebirth; that was probably it.

"You, I think, would be best suited to a yew wand under normal circumstances," he continued, peering thoughtfully at me. (I couldn't help my grin). "However, yew your wand is not. In a wand such as yours, the handle represents the heart of the wizard and the body the more conscious part of your mind, the way you appear to others. Dogwood is mischievous, adventurous, and performs exceptionally when under duress. Wizards matched to redwood wands are unreasonably lucky; they always land on their feet and have the curious ability to snatch advantage from the very worst of catastrophes."

I was lucky, wasn't I? This time around, at least. I'd been landed in the Crouch household and managed to trick poor Winky into releasing Barty to me, then Tom had found me in the nick of time and then suddenly Barty was an asset we'd been fortunate to stumble across. I'd been able to take my inheritance test despite the fact that we didn't have enough money and most obviously of all I'd been granted a lot in this new life that gave me unbelievable wealth and privilege.

"What about Lerty's?" I prodded, stuck on the irony of the fact that he'd gotten an _elder_ wand. "What's so special about a chimera scale fragment as a core?"

Bemusement took over Ollivander's face.

"Only the fact that it was yielded from the last chimera to be slain in wizarding memory over two thousand years ago!" he insisted. "Chimera scale fragments are very rare and most highly sought after. They make for exceptionally powerful wands and choose only a wizard equal to the creature it was taken from in temperament and power."

I glanced at Gellert who grinned, twirling his wand between his fingers in a way that made its already twisted, savage design seem even more dangerous.

"In Mr. Walter's case," Ollivander continued, using the surname we'd made up for Gellert, "I expect he will grow to be a wizard of truly tremendous power. The use of elder wood in his wand points to that as well; elder would never remain with a wizard who was anything less than the superior of his company. A wizard worthy of chimera scale will certainly be capable of being that."

Gellert looked as smug as anything, which was a nice change from the slightly haunted look that had been his norm while at Nurmengard.

"What about the handle?" I questioned. "It was aspen, wasn't it?"

Ollivander beamed at me as though remembering the wood was an achievement.

"Yes indeed," he confirmed. "It was exactly that. Aspen is particularly gifted in charms work and is indicative of exceptional talent duelling; it is often drawn to wizards that are inclined to great undertakings. A wizard with an aspen wand is strong-minded and determined and very much drawn to quests and new orders. It is the wand of revolutionaries, and I daresay Mr. Walters may very well live up to the name one day."

I thanked Ollivander for his time, pondering what he'd said about mine and Gellert's wands, paid 123 galleons for Gellert's, (apparently I'd gotten a hefty discount), and was nearly out the door when I stopped, having remembered what was bothering me.

"You said 'my lord,'" I, well, not _accused_ , but pointed out rather suspiciously.

Ollivander smiled.

"Good day, Miss Llywarch," he said instead of answering the implied question, and happily bustled me out of his shop, where an amused Gellert waited.

We chattered happily about our new wands; Gellert inspected mine and added that he expected it wouldn't provide much resistance, if any, to the Dark Arts, as he felt a malicious streak in it. I hadn't even decided whether or not I wanted to venture into the subject of the Dark Arts, but the more I considered it, (Bone-Breaking Curse, anyone?) the more I realized my toes were in the water and that now, with my own wand, I'd be wading further in before I knew it.

Two Dark Lords in charge of your education do not a Light witch make.

We continued chatting as we made our way down the street, deliberately steering our conversation away from mentions of the Dark Arts for obvious reasons. It took us a little longer to get to Madam Malkin's than it should have; we knew it was somewhere on the main street, but it was surprisingly easy to overlook entire shops when the whole street was packed. I couldn't imagine what it would be like when families came for school shopping.

"Lothy, you're up first," Tom ordered smoothly as soon as we'd walked through the door. "Madam Malkin has graciously offered to expedite our order in light of our unfortunate circumstances and expects to have of our wardrobes done by five o'clock this afternoon. You and I shall run a few errands while Gellert is being fitted and then the three of us will head for Eeylops to purchase owls."

Well, I thought laughingly, that settled that. I let myself be herded up onto the little stand used for fitting and allowed Madam Malkin to do what she needed to do, all the while answering questions about styles and colours and fabrics and all that. Tom had advised that we purchase clothing for daily wear at Madam Malkin's and then head to Twilfit and Tatting's for more formal wear and perhaps some dress robes. Gellert and I agreed that this was a sound plan, so I made my choices accordingly.

I made sure to give Madam Malkin Barty's measurements and request a wardrobe equal to the one I was purchasing for myself and Gellert for him. She wasn't all that pleased when I told her that I'd taken the measurements, but decided that I couldn't possibly have failed horrifically enough that a self-altering charm couldn't take care of any discrepancies for me. So Barty would be kitted with a wardrobe that was something of a cross between what I remembered him wearing from flashbacks in the film and what he'd been wearing when I met him. Classy, but _dangerous_ , Madam Malkin called it.

In any case, she assured me that my order would still be done even with the addition of an entire wardrobe. It was a particularly slow day, she confided in me, and it wouldn't do to have her assistants slouching on the job. I was sure magic went a long way in getting things done, but I wasn't going to complain. My own clothes! Finally!

When I was done, it was Gellert's turn, and I accompanied Tom to a shop that sold trunks. We would need them for school anyway, he rationalized, and we needed them that very day to store our purchases. That we would be almost literally living out of them only added to our necessity; the trunks we ended up purchasing were far from the bare minimum required for a Hogwarts student.

They were packed with expansion charms and compartmentalized so that, when you opened it, you could reach into one of seven different spaces. (Tom insisted there be seven separate areas inside the outer shell of the trunk). Tom and Gellert would take care of security measures on them, they were far more skilled in that area than the admittedly talented genius who charmed the trunks to hold anything without spilling or breaking or otherwise disturbing anything placed inside them. The seventh space in each trunk was a room that could be used as storage or, as Tom pointed out darkly, as emergency lodging once properly outfitted. All one had to do to access the different spaces in the trunk was to close the lid and state the name of the space you wished to open before getting past the security measures pertaining to that space.

Tom was familiar with how to name the space and promised to teach me as soon as we got 'home' so that I could begin sorting my spaces into distinct categories.

Once the trunks were paid for, shrunk, and tossed into Tom's pocket, we made our way back to Gellert, who was charming seamstresses despite, or perhaps because of, his very young face and perhaps a little gangly body.

Since he was done, I did what Tom had done earlier and paid the first half of my dues, which was triple what Tom paid since I was paying not only for myself, but for Gellert and Barty as well. I'd wanted to pay for Tom's as well, seeing as he'd picked up several books for the purpose of my instruction, but he'd told me not to be ridiculous. So what if I had a downright unreasonable number of vaults full of gold? Gellert, who was still in the process of comparing the merits of murdering his other self for his gold with the undeniable con that doing so would draw Dumbledore's attention to him, needed the charity. He himself, Tom insisted vehemently, did not.

I giggled at how thrown Tom seemed with the idea of someone wanting to buy something for him and then sobered, remembering that it wasn't just a cute quirk as much as it was the result of a terrible, isolated childhood.

I let him drag me, (and Gellert), to Eeylops without complaint.

I'd always thought I'd be excited to get an owl. It always seemed like the best choice on the list of familiars acceptable at Hogwarts. I wasn't all that fond of cats or toads, and I certainly wasn't having a rat, so an owl seemed the obvious choice.

"His name is Antares," Tom informed me, gesturing to the downright predatory bird he had just purchased. "He's an eagle owl. Have you chosen yours yet?"

"Not exactly," I confessed, eyeing Antares anxiously. "I was thinking I might just skip the whole familiar thing. I mean, you and Gellert will be there with me, no need for letters."

I was terrified of owls. Maybe not terrified, per se, but I had a very healthy respect for them. The way Antares was glaring at me with eyes of piercing red rather cemented the fact. Owls made me nervous. Owls were not cute, fuzzy little magical mailmen, they were birds of prey with sharp talons and a beak that could probably peck your eyes out.

"You have to have an owl," Tom asserted firmly. "A person of your station is expected to have their own owl for personal use. You can't 'skip' on having one. It's a necessity you will not be going without. Choose an owl."

I swallowed.

"Come now, Tom," Gellert chided with false lightness. "If Lothy does not wish to have an owl, she does not need to have one. What if she wishes for another familiar? Having an owl would disallow her from taking it to school with her."

"If that's the case then you can take her owl for her," Tom answered scathingly. "You said you don't want an owl and can't be bothered with a pet; there's no reason you couldn't do this for her. She needs to have her own owl. You know as well as I do that the old fool will be watching me and thus Antares like a hawk. Lothiriel's owl is less likely to be monitored."

Gellert considered this and I felt my stomach flip-flop.

"Still, if Lothy does not want an owl, you will not make her get one," Gellert announced, and there was something steely behind his mild smile.

"I'd like an owl," I blurted before they started hexing each other. "Having one would be useful, I know. I'm just a little nervous around them is all. Will you help me choose one, Gellert? Antares is a very handsome bird, but he's a bit intimidating. I'd like my owl to be a little more…friendly."

Gellert's smile tightened.

"Of course, _Spatzi_ ," he agreed, but the tempest was still in him, I could see it. He didn't like Tom ordering me around, ordering him around by extension. Dark Lords don't play well with each other, and Gellert was fond of me, in his own way.

He pulled me away from Tom with a dark look on his face.

" _Wirbelwind_ ," I prodded softly, the corners of my mouth turning up a little when he stopped and looked at me in what was almost surprise. "I can't fly in this."

It was one of our little jokes. In the Void, armed with nothing but time and nothing to do with that time, he'd dedicated himself to teaching me German. Then Hungarian. I taught him too and when we'd exhausted each other's knowledge we picked the brains of the other residents of Portach-upon-Styx. In German, I was his little sparrow and he was my whirlwind. Gellert was a man of singular focus and unbridled capacity for intense emotion. He overwhelmed me, at times, and this was one of them.

"My apologies, _Spatzi_ ," he replied evenly, and smiled brilliantly. Reigning himself in was impossible. The best way to curb his instinct to torture or at least maim those who irritated him was to occupy his mind with something else. In this case, selecting an owl.

We passed over many birds, a fat horned owl that looked like it would bite you if your fingers came too near its beak, a snowy owl I thought might have been Hedwig, and a screech owl that seemed to be screaming _I could kill ya as quick as look at ya_ with its eyes in a way that vaguely reminded me of that usually langered knob jockey from down the road back home that had fancied himself quite the hardy buck and started pub brawls that were ended by the police. Deco was a drunken idiot with a penchant for violence. I wasn't having an owl that reminded me of him, no matter how amusing Gellert found goading it.

In the end, it was not I who chose the owl, but rather the owl that chose me. I'd been wandering awkwardly about as Gellert pointed out this owl or that owl when I'd accidentally backed right up into a cage in fear of a skinny owl that was snapping its beak at everyone and may or may not have been foaming at the mouth.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt something tug on my sleeve.

"I think it likes you," Gellert observed with a laugh.

I flushed a blotchy red that probably looked awful on my freckled face as I turned to not-quite-glare at the owl who'd given me such a fright. Impatient dark eyes gazed evenly into mine out of a white, heart-shaped face. I stared back, alarmed by the single-minded intensity conveyed in its expression.

And then it nodded its head at me insistently, as though exasperated that I hadn't picked up its cage and begun making my way to the counter to pay for it yet.

"Barn owl. Male," Gellert read aloud from the tag on his cage. "Will you name him after the Goblin King you like so much?"

The owl's face wasn't quite _threatening,_ per se, as much as just naturally intimidating, and its black eyes glittered with perhaps not altogether benign intelligence.

"It was the first thing that crossed my mind," I admitted, before I was really aware of what I was saying, "but he's not really a Jareth, is he?"

Gellert's mouth curved into an amused smirk.

"No," he agreed amiably enough. "What will you name him, then?"

I studied the owl. He was a particularly handsome owl, especially for a barn owl, who while admittedly handsome birds tended to all look very alike and lack particularly distinguishing features. No, he certainly wasn't a Jareth. Jareth was glitter and the eighties and dance-magic-dance. And sometimes fear-me-love-me-do-as-I-say. The owl gave me more the feeling that he was insulting me for not having snatched up his cage and paid for him already. Really, he was looking at me as though he had scraped the bottom of the barrel and I was the least intolerable thing that turned up.

"You know, he rather puts me in mind of Snape," I said flatly, tilting my head to the side as I continued observing the owl. "Do you think it would be inappropriate to name it Severus?"

Gellert laughed - it was a beautiful sound.

"If he is anything like he was in those films of yours, then I assure you, dear Lothy, that it is the most appropriate name you could give him." Gellert encouraged, his grin sly. The reminder that he and Voldemort had watched all eight films as well as _read all seven books_ made my stomach churn once more. I didn't think Gellert would upset things too much; it was Tom I had cause to be worried about.

"Do you like the name Severus?" I asked the owl, who shot me a deadpan look before making an odd clucking noise and dipping his head as if to say it was tolerable - only just.

Tom had not been pleased with how long it had taken me, though it really hadn't been all that long. The Emporium wasn't a very large space, all things considered. I paid for Severus, (snickering at the name when the kindly witch behind the counter asked if I'd chosen one yet), and then we were off to lunch.

Tom didn't care where we ate and Gellert said he refused to partake in anything that was not especially indulgent or of the dessert variety. When Tom added that he wasn't all that hungry anyway, I suggested Fortescue's. Tom shrugged indifferently, and Gellert was on board with the idea, and so it was that we found ourselves eating ice cream in early February under a colourful umbrella that protected us more from the rain that started up after we'd sat down than the nonexistent sunshine.

"Will you teach me the warming charm?" I asked shyly after we'd sat in silence for several minutes, all digging in at our cups of ice cream. "Please?"

Tom had cast it after grumbling that, if it didn't _look_ like summer while we ate our ice cream, it might as well bloody _feel_ like it. It wasn't the first time I'd experienced the benefit of it - hypothermia would have killed us all at Nurmengard if it wasn't for Gellert putting up warming charms before anything else.

"Yes," Tom said shortly, "but only after you master the confundus charm and either the blood-freezing curse or another spell of equal lethality."

I stared at him for a moment, aghast.

"The _blood-freezing curse_?" I repeated, my voice unnaturally high.

"Or a spell of more or less equal lethality," Gellert reminded me helpfully. "Personally, I thought you should begin with the curse your owl's namesake invented. If the Potter boy could manage it on his first try, I'm sure you will master it with ease."

 _Easily_? I wondered, gathering at once that he was referring to _sectumsempra_. I reflected that it was true that Harry had gotten it on the first try against Draco, but that certainly didn't mean I would. I'd only gotten the hang of five spells, and I'd had nearly a week and a half of instruction once Tom procured he spare wand. Of course, the spare wand was particularly ill-suited to me, and the spell I'd struggled with most was far above my level, but I didn't think that translated to being able to learn dark curses with ease. It had taken me three days to reach the level of mastery I had with the bone-breaking curse, and I still couldn't actually break bones. Well, a rib, maybe. I could do enough damage to cause someone pain if not injury, at least, but that was not enough to make the idea of learning curses less daunting.

"You'll need to learn the Patronus Charm too," Tom added quietly, shooting me a furtive but no less intense look before quickly averting his eyes. "We won't be able to move until you're capable of both producing a powerful one and holding it."

Gellert nodded in agreement, steely resolve darkening his expression.

"You must manage a corporeal Patronus," he agreed, running a hand through his sunshine-coloured hair. "I can teach you the theory of it, but I'm afraid I have never been able to produce any more than the barest wisps of smoke. I'm sure you will manage it, though."

"Why?" I asked, and I wasn't sure afterwards whether I meant _why will I need that, why can't you produce a full Patronus_ or, perhaps most pressingly, _why do you believe that I can do it_? Another question popped up as Gellert opened his mouth: _if you can't produce more than smoke, why doesn't Tom teach me?_

"You have, on frequent occasions, expressed a desire to visit the pound to take home a black dog." Tom commented, his voice so idle one would think he was talking about the weather rather than what I thought he was implying. "I have decided to accompany you to procure some loyal companions of my own."

I choked on nothing and dropped the spoon I had been lifting to my mouth, sending Florean Fortescue's Finest Rhubarb Tart Ice Cream splattering onto the table. I wasn't sure whether I was surprised he'd seemingly agreed to break Sirius out of Azkaban or horrified that he intended to free _Death Eaters_ at the same time.

"Calm yourself, _lelkem_ ," Gellert chided, cleaning my spoon with an easy wave of his wand before handing it back to me. "I know the idea of trained attack dogs at Tom's command seems like catastrophe waiting to happen, but he assured me that the ones he has chosen are the best-trained of all of them and has agreed to allow you to review his list."

That did little to ease my concern.

"Fear not, Lothiriel," Tom reprimanded, staring blankly ahead of himself. "I remember very well the consequences of acting against your wishes."

My blood ran cold. There was nothing in his expression to indicate any sort of disapproval, but the neutrality of it itself was frightening. He hadn't seemed angry when we'd discussed it, but I had grown used to the way Dark Lords twisted words and said one thing while meaning another since met them and the way he specified that the wishes he was not to act against were mine were alarming.

We had discussed during one of Barty's absences what the line in the sand was in terms of what Tom and Gellert were allowed to do. I wasn't looking to control their every action, but I was, to a certain extent, responsible for what they did as I was the reason they were back in the first place. Harry had made it quite clear to me, perhaps unintentionally, during out first conversation that when I died, so would Gellert and Tom.

If dying was what it took to stop Tom and Gellert from rising again as Dark Lords and plunging the world into darkness, then I would do it. I would kill myself before I let them kill innocent people. They could do whatever they pleased as long as they were not mass-murdering muggleborns or enslaving muggles. I thought those were fair conditions, and Gellert had accepted them with a shrug. Tom had been less easy-going about it, though his actions implied he was not particularly inconvenienced by the rule.

 _There are other ways to gain power,_ he had said.

When coupled with the statement he had made not moments ago, it was all the more reason to worry. I swallowed, and Tom abruptly turned his head to look at me.

"It wasn't a threat, Lothiriel." He corrected sharply, evidently displeased by my train of thought. "I have carefully selected only the most loyal of _companions_ to keep. Ones who would stand by me no matter the direction I chose to lead them in."

Did that mean what I suspected it did, I wondered as I let the words sink in. And then I realized something that I honestly hadn't given any thought to before.

"Are you using legilimency on me?" I whispered in horrified shock.

Gellert glanced at Tom briefly before sticking another spoonful of his hazelnut ice cream into his mouth as if to prevent anyone from asking him anything.

"Yes," Tom affirmed dispassionately, as though it was no big deal that he was _reading my mind_. My outrage must have shown on my face because he fixed me with a reproachful glare. "A mild form of passive legilimency that allows me access to surface thoughts, nothing more. It isn't focused on you, but fear not. We'll be teaching you Occlumency as soon as your magic is settled, and then you won't have to worry about it when you neglect to put on your hourglass necklace as you did this morning."

This mollified me a little, but there was something in the way Gellert had looked at him that made me feel distinctly uncomfortable.

"Have you been using legilimency on me too?" I asked Gellert, desperately searching his blue-grey eyes for the truth.

"A few times," he admitted with a shrug, although there was something dark in his expression. "You have nightmares."

The plastic spoon in Tom's hand snapped in two. I jumped, and at his scathing glare decided to hold my tongue. Tom had an abrasive personality and a quick temper, no matter how good he was at hiding it. He didn't bother hiding it with us because we knew better. And though I knew he wouldn't actually hurt me, he was practically daring one of us to comment so that he could unleash the wrath of Slytherin's heir on us, even if it was only verbally. I hadn't learned nothing in the years we'd spent together in Portach-Upon-Styx.

"I have nightmares?" I questioned instead, remembering no such thing.

"The atmosphere of Nurmengard is not particularly conducive to the prevention of them," Tom stated dryly. "You have always made an effort to understand behaviours you did not necessarily agree with in Gellert and I. I ask that you do the same in this instance."

It didn't take much thought to figure out why they had done it. Legilimency had been Voldemort's bread and butter, and it wasn't all that difficult to assume it was a favourite of Dark Lords throughout history. Tom had been practicing passive legilimency since before he could hold a wand. It had been his lifeline once. It was hardly surprising that even now he did not - could not - let go of it. And Gellert, who had perhaps faced more opposition than Voldemort ever did because where Voldemort had gone after a country, he had gone after a continent, well, would it be a surprise to learn that Gellert used it? If I were a Dark Lord, I'd want to master legilimency too, if only to foil assassination plots.

But did that mean I should just let them poke about in my head?

"I understand," I said evenly, cautiously, though I didn't know how to put into words what I _understood_. "But I would appreciate it if you would at least make an effort to restrain yourselves in the future, at least in respect to my thoughts."

Did it make me a bad person to be more concerned with my own privacy than anyone else's? Likewise, was it wrong that I was taking having my privacy invaded so lightly?

I made a mental not to wear the hourglass necklace religiously from now on, at least until I had mastered Occlumency and had mental shields strong enough to withstand and unprecedented attack.

Gellert agreed with an ease that made me wish I'd used wording with less obvious leeway, and even Tom acquiesced with a dignified nod, though I didn't doubt for a moment he was only doing so because I'd basically given him permission to rummage through my head as long as he'd made a token 'effort' to resist the urge.

Whatever their (no doubt nefarious) motivations were in accepting my request, we finished our ice cream after that with light conversation before deciding to go to Potage's Cauldron Shop and the Apothecary next. Before we went, though, I asked them if they wouldn't mind coming back to Fortescue's before we took the port key back.

"Why?" Gellert had asked curiously, his arm slipping around my shoulders as though it belonged there. In hindsight, it spent enough time there that it very well might have.

"I wanted to take some back for Barty." I admitted shyly. "He told me his favourite flavour is Rhubarb Tart. I thought I might take some back."

Gellert stared at me with a pensive look as Tom turned to face me, scowling.

"Why didn't you buy it earlier?" He demanded impatiently, eager to get going.

"Because I didn't want it to be a sodden mess by the time I got it to him?" I suggested sarcastically, feeling defensive in the light of their questioning.

"Of all the bloody reasons to - " Tom started, and exhaled sharply in irritation. "Magic, Lothiriel. A simple charm and your ice cream will stay frozen until we get back."

Being a witch, I thought, my face bright red in embarrassment, would take some getting used to. I immediately added the spell to the growing list of things I wanted to learn and bought a large container of Barty's favourite flavour (which was now mine as well), and hurried along behind Tom and Gellert in their quest for potions supplies.

Potions supply shopping went quickly; Tom picked up three cauldrons not half a minute after walking in the shop, paid for them, and had them stowed away in our respective trunks faster than you can say _hurry up_. The visit to the apothecary's was no different; Tom and Gellert knew exactly what they wanted and as an afterthought picked up necessary ingredients to begin walking me through my first year of coursework.

I was brimming with excitement, though concerned that I might do badly.

Once the potions things had been picked up, in any case, we were on the move again, this time to a magical cobbler's for quality footwear. My face fell when I realized I'd neglected to ask Barty what size of shoes he might need; I hadn't thought of footwear at all, though in retrospect it was obvious that we'd need shoes that couldn't be turned back into arbitrary items scavenged from around the prison with a _Finite Incantatum._

I would ask him so that I could pick something up for him when we came back tomorrow, I resolved as I scanned the admittedly fine selection of footwear I'd been directed towards after being measured. I was looking at an almost painfully gorgeous pair of high-heeled ankle boots with longing when I realized that I wouldn't be able to wear heels of that height for a few years yet. With a sigh, I limited my choices to footwear more appropriate for a girl younger than thirteen, though I made sure what I chose was of the utmost taste. I bought three pairs of shoes, a pair of expensive looking white flats that were spelled so that they felt like walking barefoot on cool, plush carpet, a stylish pair of dragon hide ankle boots and a pair of smart black oxfords.

The flats had ribbon at the ankle like a more subtle version of pointe shoes and would go very nicely with some of the robes I had ordered at Madam Malkin's. The ankle boots were very feminine and neatly cut but not too old looking, I thought, and their almost black viridian colour would match the majority of my outerwear and go well with my casual clothes too. Plus, I liked the little gold snake ornament that wrapped around the ankle. The oxfords were slim and girlish and appropriate for school. They were very comfortable besides, and came with Perpetual Polish and Never Scuff charms permanently cast to them. Tom said my choices were all very luxurious and elegant and applauded me on having the tastes of a proper pureblood.

He and Gellert each bought a pair of dragon hide boots, (they had instructed me to chose one as well, hence my own pair), and dress shoes. Tom's boots were fairly nondescript, black in colour with no sort of embellishment. Gellert's were _proper boots_ , in his words, which meant they must have been exceptionally sensible because Gellert's ideas on proper footwear were very German and most shoes fell utterly short. Tom's choices had a very classic feel to them, as though he'd bought them in the 40s and was just now picking them up. Gellert's boots seemed even older in style, if in a flattering way, though his dress shoes were very modern.

Tom had explained to me that good shoes were vital to the presentation of a pureblooded wizard. He wasn't exactly sure why, but for some reason, shoes were a status symbol people like Draco Malfoy would use to determine a person's status. I supposed it was because many wizards simply bought muggle shoes, whether from muggle shops or wizarding ones in which you could pay extra for charms to be applied. Proper wizarding footwear was as close to made-to-order as you could get without actually having them made-to-order. Wizarding shoes were made by hand (with the aid of magic and occasionally elves) and, having been saturated in magic since their beginning, could be inlaid with permanent charms muggle shoes couldn't be.

I understood it to a certain extent, but the more Tom explained, the less sense it made. Wizarding shoes were expensive, sure, but not more so than the dusty blue Montaigne silk, Calais lace trimmed dressing gown I'd indulged in at Madam Malkin's. Nearly all of the clothes I'd purchased at Madam Malkin's were more expensive than my shoes.

"Still trying to figure it out?" Gellert asked from beside me as we walked to Twilfit and Tatting's, a knowing grin on his face.

"It doesn't make sense," I muttered defensively, and I would have crossed my arms then if I wasn't holding Severus' cage. Tom snorted.

It bothered me for ages, why shoes were so important. Tom had insisted we would return to the cobbler's once our dress robes were finished because it was that vital to our presentation. The workers at Twilfit and Tatting's didn't seem keen to take us without prior appointment but when Gellert smoothly informed them what we were in for they had a change of heart and bustled us to a private room. Tea was served, with all sorts of little sandwiches and biscuits, and books of fabric swatches were brought for our consideration as we alternated between having our measurements taken and sitting down to discuss styles and partake in the offered refreshment.

Our vaults took the worst hit they had taken that day, but by the time we left, we had dress robes and dinner wear and the sort of clothes you let people think are every day clothes so that they stand in awe of your elegant taste (and the money you must have spent on them). Clothes to wear to Gringotts, to the Ministry, to luncheons with high society. That sort of thing. As soon as we announced our lordships, after all, we would very likely be inundated with invitations to various events, our apparent ages notwithstanding.

The no-doubt-chuffed-with-their-commissions employees promised our order would be ready within five days, which Gellert told me once we left would have been an unreasonable timeframe to expect it done by, since some of the materials we had chosen were uncommon and would need to be imported. Apparently, the amount of money we were spending (all in one go, too), had convinced the staff we were important enough to impress. Gellert snickered at the thought of the looks that would no doubt grace the faces of each and every shopkeeper that could remember interacting with us when they discovered who, exactly, they had been catering to.

We picked up our order from Malkin's at the time agreed upon and were very pleased to find that it had in fact been completed in its entirety in time. The clothes went in our trunks, which were shrunk again and stuffed into our respective pockets, and then our business in the alley was concluded. Well, nearly concluded.

"Let's go to a chippy," I suggested idly, though as soon as I'd said it I wanted nothing more fish and chips except for perhaps steak pie and chips. "We can go shopping for groceries in the morning. I'm knackered. Cooking sounds terrible right now and we don't have much."

Gellert, as usual, didn't really care what we did as long as we ate. Tom, thinking over our options, nodded his agreement. We stopped at the first chippy we came across leaving the alley, bought four fish suppers, and ducked behind the building to take the port key back unseen.

"Silmaril," Tom intoned firmly, and then the three of us and the owls were thrown into Gellert's secret lair under Nurmengard in a tangle of limbs, and angrily flapping feathers.

Two owls were apparently enough to upset Barty's perfect balance. Oops.


	4. PREPARATION

_Preparation_

The weeks following our initial visit to Diagon Alley was busy. We had to go back to Gringotts the next day, for example, to sort out properties and alliances and all that. Unfortunately, none of mine and Tom's various properties were in a habitable condition. The ancestral Slytherin home was in ruins due to neglect and the first floor of Peverell Manor had collapsed in on itself after a horrible fire that was speculated to have been a count of arson by the family's political enemies a century ago.

My properties were in a similar state of disrepair.

"You would think those incompetent fools at the Ministry would have taken steps to preserve sites of historical importance," Tom had complained, his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "To think that Adderwicken, heavily warded or not, is smack dab in the centre of a _muggle nature reserve._ Muggles have done more to unwittingly preserve the ancestral home of Slytherin than wizard kind have. _Muggles!_ "

He was outraged, and (possibly) rightfully so.

"And you!" He accused, whirling about to face me. I flinched though I knew his wrath was for the Ministry and perhaps the entire wizarding world rather than for me. "Your bloodline is descended directly from _Merlin_ , and as though that isn't enough, your family has long since incorporated through marriage the lines of Morgan le Fey, Cliodna, and Mordred himself! It's been on both Ministry and Gringotts records since Edward of York won himself the bloody crown! It's sacrilege, letting your estates waste away."

"Technically, two of them aren't wasting away," I reminded him, trying to beat back any trace of amusement that dared creep onto my face. "And I'm sure Adderwicken will be lovely once the reconstruction is done. And the goblins have already arranged for teams to start work on Peverell Manor."

"Three _years_ until Adderwicken is rebuilt!" Tom snarled, "And the architects haven't even come up with a reasonable estimate for Peverell Manor yet! None of your places are habitable, so we're to choose between this damp, miserable pit and what? The Gaunt House? Even filthy muggles call it a shack! We can't receive visitors there! And Riddle Manor isn't much better! A dilapidated _muggle_ house!"

Tom, who was the mastermind behind our pre-Hogwarts plans for the most part, had been incredibly inconvenienced by our lack of housing. If we were to have any hope of keeping Dumbledore out of our affairs, we needed to cement our statuses as independent entities, and to do that, we would need politically powerful allies. Unfortunately, that meant we needed a place to bring them to in order to convince them of the wisdom of allying with us. Saying you have a vault chock-full of gold in Gringotts is very different from showing people that you have enough gold to bandy it about in fine robes, lavish dinners, huge parties and impeccably appointed houses.

"I'll try to see about getting my properties unlocked," I tried soothingly. "And Glaisdale House should be ready within the year. It's on a muggle nature reserve too. It wasn't just Adderwicken that was left to the protection of muggles."

My words were of little comfort to Tom.

"At least we won't have to stay _here_ ," I continued, hoping my words would have some sort of positive effect. "Lossiemouth Lodge and Curlew Cottage will be ready by the end of the week. There's plenty of room for us there, even for our _guests_ if a few of them don't mind doubling up. You can stay at the Lodge and I'll stay with Lerty and Sirius at Curlew."

The guests I had referred to were of course the Death Eaters Tom wished to break out of Azkaban. There were six of them, supposedly the most loyal of all, the ones who would side with Tom even if he decided to wage war politically instead of on the battlefield. He was sure that they would follow him even if he decided to champion the education and assimilation of muggleborns into wizarding society, though he admitted he'd have to sort of ease them into the latter, it being a direction _that_ far removed from the doctrine he'd drilled into them.

They were his most loyal servants, he said. They alone had been willing to surrender themselves completely to him, prostrating themselves at his feet while abandoning entirely their occlumency shields to welcome him into their minds. They would kill for him, torture for him, endure anything for him. If they could not be trusted, no one could. I felt deeply uneasy about releasing them from Azkaban, but in the end it was Gellert of all people that sided with Tom and convinced me.

"He will control them, _lelkem_ ," he assured me. "And is it not worth the risk to take Voldemort's most trusted, powerful followers from him? To turn them against him?"

The idea of six empty spaces at Voldemort's table had been too promising to ignore. The suggestion that some if not all of the six be used as spies if necessary was even better. Tom assured me that he would keep them on a tight leash.

I wondered, briefly, if people like the Bellatrix Lestrange and Antonin Dolohov were anything like Barty. When I'd given him his new clothes he'd looked at me as though he'd never gotten a gift before. When I apologized for not thinking to get him shoes and promised to remedy that the next day, he'd looked floored.

And when I told him I'd brought back Fortescue's Finest Rhubarb Tart Ice Cream, well, he almost looked like he wanted to cry.

"I'm not having Sirius around any of them," I'd warned the two Dark Lords in favour of breaking convicted Death Eaters out of Azkaban. "No matter how well-trained they are."

Tom had shrugged - an elegant, controlled motion - and voiced his agreement.

After our property was sorted, my days were spent in three ways. I cooked when we didn't buy take-out, which was the only activity I really had for myself, looked over paperwork related to my inheritance from Gringotts, and spent the rest of the time I was being drilled mercilessly in various magical subjects. For every spell I had an interest in, I was expected to master an offensive one. I made a potion every day and worked on my Patronus charm three times daily for fifteen minutes at a time. I was subjected to weak legilimency attacks from Gellert at random intervals and longer, more intense ones from Tom during my occlumency training.

It was gruelling and absolutely thrilling all at once. I went to bed each night both mentally, magically, and physically exhausted and I loved it. I'd always wondered why Harry didn't throw himself into his studies, being raised in the muggle world as he was. As a muggle myself, I was ecstatic to have magic and wanted to learn everything I could!

Learning difficult spells off the bat was proving to be highly beneficial to me in the long run. I might have struggled over learning more advanced magic, but in compensation I breezed through the first year work Tom had me practicing. I did get Sectumsempra on the first try, leaving deep gouges in the transfigured dummy, and was immediately after taught the warming charm as per my request. I transfigured my matchstick into a needle on my first attempt too; Gellert and Tom were in agreement that transfiguration was definitely one of my strong suits. I was fairly good at potions too, which I likened to cooking, although I wasn't sure I would ever memorize the ingredient reaction table Tom insisted I study, or develop the instinctive artistry the art required.

I liked curses as well. I liked how they made me feel - powerful, like no one would hurt me again, at least without suffering for it. It was frightening, how quickly I took to curses. Defence Against the Dark Arts would never be my best subject, but the Dark Arts themselves were a different story. Tom said it was in my blood, Merlin, Morgana, and her nephew Mordred had all been dark wizards, though only the latter was considered Dark by the public, who still considered dark synonymous with evil.

That was the reason behind the idea of pureblood superiority, Gellert explained. The older the bloodline, the more numerous and powerful the traits passed down in it. The Blacks were known as a dark family because the Dark Arts came naturally to them, they possess almost unnatural good looks and charisma, and were talented duellists; the Potters were a line of Quidditch players of prodigious skill, they all had messy, rebellious hair because their magic was stubborn and contrary. Talents and traits were passed down from father to son, mother to daughter, through the intangible entity wizards referred to as 'family magic.' Family magic was strengthened by each member of a family; if I was good at Transfiguration, my talent would influence the family magic and possibly be passed on.

The influence of a wizard on his family magic was greatly dependent on his personal power. Merlin was one of the most powerful wizards to ever live; his influence on my bloodline was so defining that over a millennium later I was a parselmouth because he had been a parselmouth. Merlin, Morgan le Fey, Mordred…three of my ancestors were powerful practitioners of the Dark Arts, though only the latter of the three was considered 'evil.' It made sense that I would be good at them too, once Gellert explained what I would call 'magical genetics.' My natural talent for transfiguration was born of my bloodline too, he told me. I'd inherited it from the lines of Morgan le Fey and Cliodna. Both were gifted in the art and animagi to boot. It was even said that Cliodna could transform into a wave!

I resolutely did not think of anything else I might have inherited from Morgan le Fey. My ancestress was some distant figure I would never meet, I chanted to myself to keep from thinking of my time in the Void. Morgana of Portach-upon-Styx was not Morgan le Fey.

(I ignored the fact that Harry, Tom, and Gellert had each told me she was).

If she was, she would have mentioned our relation, being able to sense it as souls in the Void could. Morgana was not my ancestress. She was my friend. And Morgan le Fey was just a pile of bones somewhere whose children had married into the House of Merlin.

 _(Why hadn't she said anything? She knew how I felt.)_

"Again," Gellert instructed, and I focused even harder on the image of a little girl laughing as she soared to new heights on the swings on a rare sunny day in Athy. Tom watched me like a hawk, lowering his book to give my next attempt his full attention.

" _Expecto patronum_ ," I enunciated carefully, thinking of sunshine and the wind on my face, weightlessness and what had seemed to a six year old girl like being miles off the ground.

Blue-white mist shot out of the end of my wand, forming a large, shapeless expanse of light. It was three or four times what Gellert could produce, and so thick you'd think I was that close to producing a corporeal Patronus, but I wasn't. I'd been stuck at the same stage for eight days without improvement; my Patronus grew no bigger than its already ridiculous size and never gained any form of shape, no matter how hard I tried.

"I'm sorry," I muttered in embarrassment; had Tom expected me to finally get it that time?

"You did well, Lothy, you shouldn't be," Gellert cut in, his expression growing quite grim as he turned to face Tom. "Do you think the taint is on her, perhaps?"

I stilled.

"No," Tom said after a moment of consideration. "What we've taught her isn't enough to give her the taint, and her soul isn't nearly dark enough to be marked. It's more likely that, as an eleven year old girl, her magical core isn't capable of powering a corporeal Patronus."

Gellert made a noise of understanding in the back of his throat and studied me speculatively before informing me that he was going to use a curse on me and I was to produce my Patronus Charm if I could while under its effects.

He did not ask me if I was alright with it.

One moment, I was standing there, a mere second from cracking and voicing my objections, and the next, I was in hell. There were no memories, not that I had any particularly bad ones, but there was all of the feeling that would have accompanied them had I had any. Acute helplessness, the primordial fear of prey at the mercy of predators, a gut-wrenching, soul-rending despair.

I kicked and fought against unseen assailants, railing and screaming my defiance as though I had done it before and failed, fought even harder because on some level I knew the consequences of losing. I sobbed like I hadn't since my mother's funeral, and yet, somehow, I managed to say the words.

" _Ex…expecto patronum_!"

Pure blue-white light erupted from the tip of my wand, the nightmare persisted despite my success. No, no, no, I was losing it, the light was fading. I forced every ounce of will I could muster in my scrambled mind to the forefront of my consciousness, beating back the curse's influence and pushing my magic through my wand into the charm.

I was tormented for another minute, then another, then another, and then there was blessed relief. I dropped to my knees like a stone.

"Well done." Tom's look was calculating and vaguely satisfied.

"She is ready, I think," Gellert added, studying my shaking hands. "I do not believe she will manage a corporeal Patronus in time to accomplish what we wish to accomplish. If we are to proceed as planned before September 1st, we must move now. Her Patronus will hold."

I shivered at his flat, matter-of-fact tone. Azkaban. We would be moving on Azkaban. I had been able to hold my Patronus while under Gellert's curse. I was ready.

I went to bed exhausted that night, and slept through to late morning. Our little holiday, as we'd begun to reference our planned break-in, was scheduled for ten days from now. There were things we needed to do first, wait for Lossiemouth Lodge and Curlew Cottage to be warded by the goblins now that they'd been completed, solidifying our position before scaring the shite out of the whole wizarding world with the sudden escape of Death Eaters. And, perhaps most importantly of all, we were due a visit to Privet Drive.

When we were at Gringotts, Tom had laughed at the fact that he was Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Peverell. I hadn't understood why at the time, though I knew that he was the true lord rather than Harry, because he was descended from the second brother. I hadn't understood why he'd laughed himself sick wondering if Dumbledore had known; Tom himself hadn't known, and he only knew about Harry being descended from the Peverell family because of our time in the Void. I'd hadn't thought to ask, and had in fact forgotten all about it.

Until he brought it up, at least.

"Just as I thought," Tom announced smugly, drawing mine and Gellert's attention from our respective reading. I wondered briefly if he was going to fall to pieces laughing again, such was the look of dark, positively tickled satisfaction on his face. "The Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter is a cadet branch of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Peverell, with all that position entailed at the time of the last recognized Lord Peverell."

Gellert set down the book he had been engrossed in for an hour as though it were of no more interest to him than a muggle gossip rag. I lowered the charter I was reading.

"You'll have to elaborate, Tom," I requested, and snuck a glance at Gellert who did not look as though he needed help understanding. My cheeks pinked. "For me, at least."

Tom smiled. Actually _smiled_. And it wasn't a fake one, either, or a more moderate smirk. A real, honest to God smile.

"Your desire to learn is most becoming, Lothiriel, and something you should take pride in," he complimented me magnanimously. "The last Lord Peverell was recognized in 1196. In those days, the lord of a house had vast amounts of power over his own house and houses owing his fealty. Since there has been no Lord Peverell since, there was no need to make any changes to the laws bonding House Peverell to its cadet branches. Essentially, by some obscure ancient laws no one has thought to change, I have the rights of paterfamilias over all members of House Potter."

"You can claim guardianship of Harry," I realized slowly, remembering a brief, vague mention of cadet branches and paterfamilias from one of my mandatory pureblood history lessons, at last understanding his laughter as I pieced the rest together for myself. "Christ on a bike! You could have simply ordered James to hand him over to you and he would have had to do it, wouldn't he? I imagine there are all sorts of nasty magical consequences for breaking laws regarding fealty…"

"Clever witch," Tom praised, clearly pleased. "It's perfect, isn't it? Better than anything we could have hoped for. All Harry has to do is verbally acknowledge me as his paterfamilias. A simple yes, and his guardianship will automatically revert to me in every way that matters. And since I'm emancipated, no one can do a damn thing about it."

Oh, it was brilliant. I mean, it was horrifying to think that Voldemort could have gotten his hands on Harry that easily if he had only gone to Gringotts to take an inheritance test, but for our purposes it was brilliant! He could take magical custody of Harry away from Dumbledore and then once we were sure Sirius wasn't going to hang off of Dumbledore's every word, we could give guardianship to Sirius. That way Harry would never have to return to Privet Drive for the stupid blood protection that didn't do him any good whatsoever until after Voldemort's resurrection unless he wanted to. The rest of his childhood would be happy, even if until now it was anything but.

"Speaking of emancipation, Lothiriel," Gellert cut in smoothly, rising from the armchair he had been sitting in to join us at the table. "If Albus were to investigate our origins, which I do not doubt he will, it is very likely that he will bring my case to the Ministry to have me placed with a guardian, as I do not have the protection of a lordship like you and Tom."

My mouth fell open in dismay. I hadn't thought of that.

"What can we do?" I asked, scrambling for an answer. "There must be something - "

"Be calm, _Spatzi_. This is a problem easily remedied." Gellert assured me, threading together his long fingers with the barest hint of a smirk on his face. "As you know, I have decided to wait at least two years before killing my other self in order to ensure I am not suspect to his murder."

I nodded; he'd decided this last week and it still made me uncomfortable to even so much as think about it. I mean, he was going to murder himself in cold blood, just because this was a parallel universe and it wouldn't harm him to do so.

"As my other self is currently the Head of the House of Grindelwald," he continued judiciously, "and I a pureblood scion of that house, he has the right to assign me a guardian other than himself if he is unwilling or unable to care for me."

It took me a moment to understand what he was implying, but when I did, my eyes snapped to his in startled insecurity.

"Me?" I asked, before I really thought about the words coming out of my mouth. "You want your other self to make _me_ your guardian?"

"Of course, _lelkem_ ," Gellert soothed. "Who else would be worthy of such an esteemed title? Certainly not _Riddle_."

Tom sneered at Gellert for that, his eyes a venomous green.

"You will make a most excellent regent," my Lerty continued, and even the damp dark of Nurmengard was not enough to stifle him then. "Albus shall be so _vexed_! You know, I can't decide whether driving the traitorous bastard mad while at school is as good or better than simply making him pay for his betrayal."

He considered these curious words for a moment.

"Why decide?" He asked at last, in the most flippant manner imaginable. "We shall drive him mad and make him pay all at once. It shall be wonderful, _lelkem_. You will help me, won't you? We'll be insurmountable, you and I."

His hands were practically trembling in anticipation, that wild, manic gleam in his eye and a wide, joyful grin on his face. This was the Gellert I knew, not the more subdued version of himself he'd become in Nurmengard. Of course, that didn't make what he was saying any less terrifying, but it was a relief to see him at himself again.

"I'm sure we will, _csíllagom_ ," I answered fondly, "but you'll have to explain that stuff about Dumbledore betraying you first, because I have no idea what you're talking about."

He cast a cold glance at Tom before answering.

"Perhaps another day, Lothy," he demurred. "All you need to know is that Albus did not _win_ the Deathstick from me. Thieves have more honour than he did in stealing it. And I will make him pay for every minute I spent imprisoned in my own fortress."

The last part was said with such savage resolve that I didn't doubt for a minute that he would succeed. But even that paled in comparison to what he'd just told us - Dumbledore hadn't won the Elder Wand in their duel? That was news to me. In the books, it was so easy to assume…

"Do as you like, but his life will be mine in the end," Tom cut in darkly. "The old fool has meddled in my affairs since the beginning of everything."

I shivered despite myself; dark wizards, I reminded myself firmly, they were dark wizards and I couldn't go on forgetting it. They might have been Marv and Lerty to me once, Tom and Gellert now, but they had been and were still Voldemort and Grindelwald and being my friends didn't absolve them of that or change it.

Gellert glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, as though sensing my discomfort, and smoothly changed the subject.

"I waited until now to bring up the issue of my guardianship," he began, his lip curling in distaste at the last word, "because I was not sure when visiting my other self would be feasible. As things stand, my degradation curses have successfully collapsed most of the wards meant to keep away prisoners and all other possible obstacle wards have been redirected or moved. Thusly, if you are amenable, we can resolve the issue this evening."

Tom nodded.

"If you take care of that tonight, we can see to making arrangements with the Potter boy as early as tomorrow morning," Tom decided neatly. "Also, I would like for you to attempt to summon any house elves that may or may not be tied to your various inheritances. At your earliest convenience, of course."

Which meant immediately, in Tom speak.

"Alright," I agreed, though I didn't expect any house elves I might own would come, if they were tied to the sealed properties as I suspected they might be. "But what will we do with Harry? I mean, we'll have to take him from Privet Drive before we move on Azkaban, won't we? Do you think it will be safe to have him there while Sirius recovers?"

"Call any house elves bound to answer you, Lothy," Gellert answered in Tom's place, gesturing towards the centre of the cramped library.

I peered curiously at him but stood anyway to do as he said.

"Is - is there a particular way to do this?" I questioned, making a little face at my lack of knowledge. I would remedy that soon, I vowed.

"Not particularly, just be sure to specify that you are calling all elves bound to answer you," Tom responded, a calculating gleam in his eye.

The boys were up to something, I thought mildly, and shrugged my acquiescence.

"Right," I mumbled thoughtfully. "Right. I, Lothiriel Llywarch, summon to my side any and all house elves that are in any way bound to answer me."

There was a pregnant pause and then one pop, and two simultaneous others.

" _Kreacher_?" I exclaimed, and was unsure whether I was more shocked that it was him or that there were two other house elves in the room.

"Miss Lothy?" The house elf in question croaked, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head at the sight of me before he fixed them on the floor, scowling. "Miss Lothy is here - poor Kreacher waited so long to be summoned by the regent. How delighted Mistress will be…"

Talk about mixed signals, I thought idly, but I supposed that coming from Kreacher, it was as good as a welcoming parade. Tom smirked in my peripheral vision.

"Kreacher," he called, pre-emptive satisfaction lacing his tone, "does Lothiriel have the right to abode in any Black properties?"

"Who is this that speaks to Kreacher? Some filthy half-blood, no doubt," the ancient elf muttered to himself, before turning large, unblinking eyes in my direction. "Should Kreacher answer?"

I was unsure if he was actually addressing me or not, but in case he was I nodded.

"Miss Lothy can abide in Grimmauld Place," Kreacher informed us after a moment, watching Tom suspiciously. "Kreacher is to serve Miss Lothy as though she were Mistress."

He glanced around the dinky little library in undisguised disgust.

"Shall Kreacher prepare a room for Miss Lothy at home?" Kreacher asked, eyeing the tattered armchair I had been sitting in as though he expected it to leap up and bite me. "Oh, how Mistress would _weep_ if she saw the place Miss Lothy lived in. The _shame_ of it…"

"I don't actually live here, Kreacher," I tried to assure him. "One of my properties is being renovated at the moment, Lossiemouth Lodge and the cottage attached to it. And, um, I'm not sure if I will be requiring a room at the moment. But perhaps, if it isn't too much trouble, you might start airing out Grimmauld and getting rid of pests and all that?"

I had no idea how to talk to house elves.

"Kreacher will do as Kreacher is told," he said indifferently, or at least I thought it was indifferently, honestly it was hard to tell. He was acting very deliberately neutral to me; it was far removed from the spiteful hatred he harboured for Sirius and the fanatical devotion he displayed for Regulus and his mistress and anyone he considered a _proper_ pureblood. Neutrality was confusing.

"Well then, I would like it very much if you could clean out the entire house. Prioritize as you wish, and take as much time as you need. I only ask that a bedroom and the kitchen are prepared above all else." That seemed fair, didn't it? Sirius would probably move in there once his name was cleared. "If you need any money for anything just come to me and I'll give it to you. Food or cleaning supplies or whatever."

Another long, inscrutable look.

"As Miss Lothy commands," he mumbled, bowing, and disappearing with a soft pop.

I turned to the other two elves.

"Hello, I'm Lothiriel," I greeted politely. "You can call me Lothy, if you like. I realize Lothiriel's a bit of a mouthful. What are your names?"

They looked at each other and then at me.

"Gred and Forge," they intoned cheerfully in perfect synchrony.

Gellert snorted somewhere behind me, smothered laughter slipping through his dark lord-y restraint, and Tom, who had been so smug, looked like he was choking on something but making the utmost effort not to let on about it. I couldn't manage more than weak smile to cover my look of utter incredulity.

"Those are lovely names," I said politely, and for a brief, wild moment, watching them smirk up at me as if reading my thoughts, I wondered if they had ever met Fred and George. I quickly shook my head to clear it of that line of thinking before it became worse. "Right. So, where are you from? Are you from one of the two sealed properties?"

They nodded in sync.

"We cannot be saying name," said one, and the other picked up where he had left off, "until Mistress be knowing it already."

That was frustrating, to say the least, but of little consequence. I hadn't expected to get any use out of the sealed properties now or ever, really, nor had I expected having my own house elves. Having two of them was a big plus, as far as I was concerned, and the lack of information on the sealed lots didn't even register as a minus due to irrelevance.

"That's fine," I allowed, unconcerned, and then crouched down in front of them so that I wasn't towering over them like a giant. "I want you to know that if, at any point, you don't want to work for me anymore, all you have to do is let me know and I'll free you. If you ever want pay for your work, you tell me and we'll come to terms. In fact, if you have any problems at all while working for me, you are to inform me so we can find a solution. That is an order. Fair enough?"

The glanced at each other.

"Gred could never be accepting _pay_ ," the one I assumed was Gred uttered in horror, as though I had suggested something utterly unspeakable. I suppose, in their minds, I had.

"Free? Forge is speaking for both of uses when he say never, never!" Forge insisted, seeming appalled that I would even dare mention such a thing.

Not all house elves were like Dobby, I thought with amusement.

"Right, no pay and no freedom, if it makes you happy," I conceded, though I still felt incredibly uncomfortable at the idea of owning slaves, though I knew house elves actually did seem to like the arrangement. "I don't need anything right now, really, so you can do as you please or if you want you can go and tidy Lossiemouth Lodge and Curlew Cottage; we'll be moving in as soon as the warding is finished and it would be nice to come home to a clean, comfortable house."

They looked at each other, as they were wont to do, and cut a majestic, sweeping bow (that I was sure was at least partially sarcastic in nature) and grinned at me.

"As Mistress commands," they deferred, and disappeared with a surprisingly sharp pop.

"Your house elves are, quite possibly, the oddest house elves I have ever seen, including that Dobby one," Gellert informed me cheerfully, obviously amused. "They seem to have some sort of…twin telepathy. Very unusual."

"House elves aside," Tom cut in impatiently, "we have work to do. I would prefer it if you could take Lothiriel to your cell to deal with your guardianship before Barty returns; knowing that Lothiriel has the right of abode in Grimmauld Place and can call the Black family elf changes things and she and I still need to go over these papers."

He'd known, or at least suspected, that I'd have the right to Grimmauld, I noted pensively before resigning myself to a late night before an early morning. Staying up to finish going through the papers from Gringotts was even more unappealing than our impending visit to Privet Drive the next day.

"Come, Lothy. Let us see to the poor wretch that is my other self," Gellert invited, offering me his arm with a muted grin. His demeanour was off, strangely antsy in a way that was utterly unlike him. Almost as though he didn't want to go. Didn't want _me_ to go.

I was going to see what only two people besides himself has seen; the dark lord Grindelwald laid low. I was going to see why Gellert was haunted by this place, which rivalled Azkaban without the benefit of Dementors to make it miserable. It was necessary, but I didn't want to go. How could I see this part of Gellert when I had nothing to offer him that made me as vulnerable in turn?

"We will be quick, yes?" Gellert soothed, and I wondered if this was more of that passive legilimency or just a case of Gellert knowing me that well.

"As quick as possible," I agreed, and squeezed his hand gently in a gesture of comfort.

And we were. Gellert had me wait right outside the cell while he proved his identity to his counterpart; I didn't hear what words were spoken, but when Gellert pulled me inside and tugged me against him so that my back was snug against my chest, I understood the haunted look that had marred his merry features since we'd come.

"Lord Merlin," that gaunt, hollowed face greeted with false deference, baring its yellowed teeth in a stomach-turning grin. "Apologies. I would stand for a lady of your eminence and loveliness, if I had the strength to do so."

That was Gellert, I thought numbly, as I knew him. Charming, irreverent. But the sight of him made me feel sick; this was not a man as much as it was a skeleton, sallow, peeling skin drawn too tightly over bone with little between them. I wondered in some vague, disconnected part of my mind whether my Gellert was holding me to keep _me_ from bolting, or himself. Grindelwald was that awful to look at - he was the stuff of nightmares, made all the more horrifying by the fact that he was _real_ , that it was possible for a person to become such a thing.

We completed the exchange as quickly as we could and left. Gellert informed his other self that he would return to grant him release when the time was right; it was chilling to see how Grindelwald grinned at the promise of death, perhaps more so than the ease Gellert had had in deciding to be the one to kill him. Nurmengard was hell, if it could drive a man to long for death like that. I shuddered to think what Azkaban was like.

The first thing I did upon returning to Tom was demand that we move to the Lodge immediately. He'd wanted to wait until it was warded but I would not be swayed this time. To stay another day in this place was a betrayal of my friendship with Gellert. A true friend would never allow him to suffer the way he was so clearly suffering, stuck in a place where he remembered living as the shell of a man I had spoken to this evening.

"If you feel so strongly about it," Tom assented with a slight inclination of his head, as though it mattered little either way. "By all means."

When Barty came back from running errands, Tom told him he would be in charge of seeing to it that our possessions were moved to Lossiemouth while we were out and that was that. I sat down with Tom to go over the last of the papers and Gellert busied himself with stripping the place to its bare bones. All his books, all his trinkets and even the furniture were shoved the room in his trunk, which I didn't doubt ended up being a cosy, full library. We were leaving tomorrow, and Gellert wouldn't be coming back.

Not to this hideout, at least.

The documents Tom and I had been going over were ancient and of varying levels of use to us. A lot of it consisted of records of what houses ours were allied with, and in the House of Merlin's case, what houses owed us allegiance and if so, to what degree. Most of the names listed were both obscure and extinct, and the papers were all mixed up anyway, so it took careful scrutiny to figure out which ones were still valid and which could be chucked in the bin. Tom had far less work to do than I did; he ended up helping me sort mine anyway, and found several interesting things doing so.

"That would explain his 'my lord,'" Tom said dryly, glancing over the contents of what looked like some sort of treaty. "The Most Ancient House of Ollivander owes you allegiance as a cadet branch of the House of Lovegood, which owes you allegiance out of blood guilt. They're useful allies to have; the descendants of Nimue are nearly always blessed with some form of precognitive ability, if they are not Seers outright."

I choked and nearly tore a paper declaring a blood feud between the line of Mordred and the House of Littenwicky in half in shock. (Not that it would have really mattered if I had, though; I'd already seen a missive dated two days later than the one in my hand detailing the assimilation of Littenwicky assets through right of conquest and the dissolution of the feud due to the losing party's extinction. The line of Mordred, it seemed, didn't mess about when it came to eliminating their enemies. Our enemies, I suppose).

"Also there are some land holdings listed here…and the deed to another property. Spinner's End…it sounds familiar, but I can't place it." Tom admitted, displeasure very evident in his voice. He quickly shuffled through the papers he had gone through, evidently searching for one he had already seen. "Ah, here it is. The cottage is held in trust, it says here, by a sworn vassal of the House of Merlin…"

"Severus Snape," I read over his shoulder in wonder, and then frowned. "What is a vassal? I have several papers in this file about vassals and wards and liegemen; how is _Snape_ of all people related to the House of Merlin?"

"A vassal is a person who owes fealty to a house and swears an individual oath of loyalty to enter that lord's service. A ward is a child that has been adopted into a house by the will of that house's lord, who may then assign the child caretakers or alternate guardianship." Tom explained flatly. "Gellert is your ward now that his other self has released him to you. And a liegeman is a person who swears an oath of loyalty to a lord to enter his service, like a vassal, but without having any connections to that lord's house beforehand."

Tom shuffled through the pile of papers he hadn't sorted yet for several long minutes before extracting a document that looked considerably less ancient than the rest. It looked modern, well, mostly. He skimmed it over briefly and then made a noise of consideration in the back of his throat.

"Apparently he was removed from his parents' home on January 9th, 1971 by the will of Lord Merlin." Tom read thoughtfully. "Magical guardianship ceded by Eileen Snape, née Prince, the same day through right of fealty. I expect the Prince family owed your house allegiance, or that they were a cadet branch of a house that owed you allegiance. What was your mother's name, Lothiriel?"

I was taken aback by the question. What did my mother have to do with anything?

"Gwenda Llywarch," I answered, and added rather uselessly as an afterthought, "My father's name was Liam Loughlin."

"The last lord of your house shared your initials. It says here, L. Llywarch, Lord Merlin. No middle initial. Do you know of any relative on your mother's side that would sign as L. Llywarch?" Tom probed, scanning the document as though it would provide us with all the secrets of the universe.

"I think you're forgetting that I'm a muggle and so were the rest of my family." I reminded him, wryness written all over my face. "Though no, no L. Llywarchs on my mum's side. Just my Great-Aunt Enfys, Grandmother Rhiannon, and Grandfather Nye, whose proper name was Aneirin. I never met Aunt Enfys or my grandmother, and my grandda died when I was ten. Aunt Enfys died childless and my mum was an only child."

I turned pink when he turned a dry look on me; he hadn't asked for my family history, but I'd given it to him anyway out of habit. I always thought it best to expand on yes or no questions for a better understanding of the overall subject. I was a meticulous note taker in school, and it showed in my babbling.

"The only other person in my family that I know of whose name starts with an L is my father, but that can't be him, he was a Loughlin."

"I see," was all Tom said, and then told me that he would finish sorting my papers for me and that I should see to my packing in the meantime and then play with my owl or Barty or something. I wanted to be indignant, honestly, I did, but bonding with Sev and playing with Barty sounded like heaven compared to poring over all the papers sprawled out on the table. I was off to pack quicker than you could say _quidditch_.

I didn't have many things, barring what I had recently purchased and the majority of that was still in it's neat brown paper packaging, so all I really had to do was fold the few changes of clothes I'd used and toss them in with the rest. The books Tom had bought to begin my instruction were lovingly placed into a separate section of my trunk, followed reverently by the dusty tomes Gellert had given me as a reward for resisting his nightmare curse from his private library here in the safe house.

Once my still meagre amount of possessions were as neatly stowed in my trunk as I could make them, I was free for the evening and decided to let Sev out to stretch his wings while I went looking for Barty. When I found him, he was digging into the carton of ice cream I'd brought back for him with such eager delight, he looked like a child sneaking it under his parents' noses. I sniggered.

"You were right, Barty," I announced innocently as I plopped onto the transfigured chair beside him. "Best ice cream I've ever tasted. I don't know how I shall bear being without it when we set off to Hogwarts."

"Fortescue has an owl order service for preferred customers." He informed me evenly, his tongue stealing over a little smudge of ice cream at the corner of his mouth, and then paused. "My mother was one."

I blinked in surprise at the admission; Barty never spoke of his family. Ever. I didn't blame him, but there was something odd in the tone of his voice as he said mother that gave me pause. He'd loved his mother, I realized. And…he trusted me enough to mention her, even in such a seemingly trivial way.

"Was rhubarb tart her favourite flavour too?" I asked without really thinking, and immediately regretted it. I shouldn't have pried. Oh, Lord, I'd gone and mucked it all up, hadn't I? Barty flicked his tongue like a snake, his eyes sharply, curiously aware all of a sudden in that mad, wild way of his as he stared at me.

"I'll put him under the Imperius, if you like," he said instead of answering, and it took me a moment to figure out who he was referring to. He gripped his spoon so tightly his knuckles were white as he licked his lips with anxious energy. "To send some to Hogwarts for you."

He stopped again and muttered, "nothing better for a care package," under his breath as though repeating something he'd heard said many times before. I wondered if his mother had said it, had sent him his favourite flavour of ice cream every now and then while he was at school. And then I looked at how his fist shook around the spoon and realized his problem.

"You don't have to put anyone under the Imperius curse if you don't want to," I told him softly, and added, my voice a little wry as I attempted to put him at ease, "In any case, I'm sure there are easier ways to become a preferred customer. Like asking, maybe."

The glazed over, distant expression that had come over his face when I stupidly asked about his mother sharpened into the manic gleam I was more familiar with and then he was up, his tongue flickering out as though tasting the air.

"Did my lord need something of me?" He inquired hopefully, eager to serve as always.

I shook my head.

"No, he just dismissed me, actually," I admitted dryly, and then grinned. "Let me off on sorting through the rest of those papers. Fancy a game of chess or a mock duel?"

Barty was a master at chess. Was a Ravenclaw in school, he told me. And as a Death Eater of Voldemort's Inner Circle, more than skilled and experienced enough to help teach me magic. Mock duelling was a vital part of my curriculum, if you asked Tom or Gellert. Barty certainly agreed. I wasn't convinced it was really all that necessary so early on, especially since most of the spells I was being taught weren't spells I would be able to use duelling any of my peers for several years yet, if ever, but mock duelling was surprisingly fun and very educational. Barty was also the very best when it came to teaching me dirty tricks. He had a flair in executing them I hoped to match one day.

"Mock duel and then a game of chess," he decided, his shoulders hunching up a little in anticipation. "I've been meaning to get you started on false casting…"

Barty might have been an escaped convict and without any shadow of doubt utterly unhinged, but he made a brilliant 'playmate' for a not-actually-ten year old girl who was somewhat against her will well on her way to being a Dark witch.

We were half way through a leisurely, instructive game of chess when Tom strode into the room, his face like thunder.

"We're leaving for Lossiemouth tonight," he instructed curtly, his eyes a dark, frustrated green. "Lothiriel, you shall inform Grindelwald of the change in plan. We'll be moving on the Potter boy tonight. Have your house elves key me into your wards; I have business to attend to while you settle Potter in. We'll move on Azkaban immediately upon my return."

My lips parted in shock.

"What? So quickly?" I questioned, my stomach churning anxiously. "And what about Sev? I just sent him out to hunt, I can't leave him."

Tom flashed me an irritated look.

"You and I will have an errand to run here in Germany tomorrow; you can fetch him then," he told me sharply, and that was the last word he would hear from me. "Go inform Grindelwald. Barty, I have a task for you…"

I didn't hang about to find out what Barty would be up to because Tom's eyes were flickering red and while I didn't think he'd actually raise his wand against me, I was afraid of being snapped at and so quickly left.

Gellert would not be pleased, I thought to myself with not a little trepidation. He and Tom had been on very strained terms since we had been…resurrected…and the only reason they hadn't outright fought was because Gellert, for whatever reason, seemed content enough to defer to my judgement, which essentially meant following Tom anyway thus eliminating the majority of the conflict. Gellert did as Tom wanted him to provided Tom didn't actually tell him to; it was for this reason Tom had instructed me to tell Gellert about the change in plan.

Tom did all the planning, Gellert did his own plotting independently and went along with whatever Tom had planned as long as that was what I was doing. I just sort of tagged along and prevented them from fighting. Well, I tried. (I shivered at the memory of Eeylop's, at the fury that sprang up in Gellert's eyes, his argument with Tom.)

I'd threatened to take my own life to stop Tom from taking Voldemort's place, to prevent the revival of Grindelwald and his 'Greater Good,' and I would do it in a heartbeat. But was quietly allowing Tom to be in control of everything any better than that? I knew nothing of wizard culture and politics save what was explained by my self-appointed tutors; I only knew what magic Tom and Gellert took the time to teach me, only learned what they deemed appropriate. It was terrifying when I really thought about it, how much I relied on Tom and Gellert. How much I _needed_ them.

In fact, in our short time in isolation, I had forgotten what they were capable of. I loved them too much, like we were still in Portach-Upon-Styx where I was in control and no one ever hurt anyone else. Despite my occasional misgivings, I trusted them, let them lead and didn't think of what they had done, what they would do if given the chance, because I needed them so and they were all I knew in this world. Even Barty, who I _knew_ was a murderer who wouldn't have hesitated for a moment to torture and kill me if he knew I was a muggle…I forgot what he was, too, because I'd grown so attached.

Was it any surprise, though, that in the pitch black of Nurmengard, even the darkest of the dark seemed lighter? Nurmengard, I thought sometimes, was worse than Azkaban, because Azkaban drove you mad and madness, in Nurmengard, at least, would have been a relief. I would never, ever forget the sight of the other Gellert in his cell. It was the main reason I'd insisted we leave at once, damn the incomplete wards at Lossiemouth.

The reminder that Tom had agreed to that, (even if he had changed his mind not a few minutes ago for an even sooner move), brought me a small measure of peace. Even if it was just to appease me, to prevent me from growing wary of him, he had agreed to change his plans for me once. Voldemort would not have done that.

I raised a hand to my head as if to soothe away the headache developing there. There was no use dwelling on such concerns now. Not when I still had to tell Gellert that, in essence, Tom had changed his mind and we were leaving now for reasons he hadn't disclosed but I was sure we'd be informed of eventually. He would take it right _marvellously_ , I knew. Why of all times had I decided to be introspective _now_?

Tiredly, I glanced back in the direction I had come, the flicker of red in Tom's eyes like a heavy weight on my soul, and turned my attention back to the door in front of me.

No, Gellert would not be pleased.

I raised my hand to knock anyway.


End file.
